A Withering Rose
by Granitt
Summary: The journey of a broken girl... Laden with ridiculousness... Dashed with oddities... And perhaps gravied with embarrassment... What if Rose survived instead of Sparrow?
1. Chapter 1

It, was winter. In winter, things slowly die. Their life drained until the blessing spring. In the winter, sickness and death fall upon the unfortunate and nature. In winter, biting winds and the unforgiving cold with the graceful yet indiscriminate snow, indifferent.

Winter is frigid.

It was not surprising that tragedy occurred more likely in the season that the world became cruel and unforgiving, sometimes beautiful for its own amusement.

One such tragedy that began to wither a Rose.

A young Rose.

A Rose that grew thorns and learned to tangle and whip.

A Rose, that learned to sustain itself with blood.

And so the story, begins...

Another cold morning, another day of wishing.

Another day of stress, stress and more stress. Wishing their parents were still alive, wishing things would finally go their way, wishing the traders from before had returned like before to shelter them again, wishing she could help herself and her brother better. Stressed because she had to worry about all of that, all factors.

Their home, the worst of a poor man's excuse of a shack - a skeletal frame and a roof with a wall that barely stood on its own, leveraged by a side of a house that it leaned on in the alley they called home. Rose sniffed and shuddered, wincing from the cold as she rubbed her arms just for the littlest of warmth. She closed her eyes, her breath steam in the morning air. She then looked to Sparrow, poor boy was shaking in his sleep. Like yesterday. And the day before that. So on and so forth ever since the cold finally took hold late fall and grew ever strong.

When they were taken by those traders, the wife had given Rose a gift: a black worn book that she used as her diary. She did have ink and pen at one point, that also from the wife, but their hunger was too demanding.

She went to, took it in her hands, and opened to the latest entry, skimming:

...come on Rose, think of something. You're the big sister, remember?

She stared at the entry a moment, then up and at the brick wall ahead of her absently, face blank but mind at work, thinking of possible solutions. One in particular stuck out, stubbornly stuck out.

She sighed and put the diary back into place, back on the wooden floor even welcoming the diary for warmth.

Rose: "Yeah... think."

Rose took a deep breath, needing to clear those thoughts, old enough to know thinking like that would not get any of them anywhere.

Warmth... A fire... That is what they needed.

Rose glanced around the alley - nothing useful.

But looking out. - even from here, she had a great view of Castle Fairfax. It was like tunnel vision, a beacon, and her mind wandered, soaring high to imagination:

A warm spring day.

The courtyard populated with nobles greeting each other in their sophisticated mannerisms, about or on business.

Flowers dancing in the sun neighbored by the crisp green grass; butterflies or bees resting or at work.

Birds beating their wings, soaring into the sky.

The sun even happy on this day, it beaming clear and welcoming.

Rose sighed again:

The image faded away, reality slipping in. But even then, the castle was still beautiful in the drifting snow: the dark contrast of the castle in the falling white stars and the white canvas that was the sky in the background, black and white, the eye catcher. A dark shape of the unknown. Which fitted her and Sparrow just fine: only knowing the exterior, never what was actually inside. It could be anything they wished it to be: royal hallways decorated with paintings and red carpets, expensive decor - all guarded by guards ready to serve given the chance.

Enough of dreams, however.

Rose continued her search; nothing viable in the vicinity - wet wood of the shack and the wet, snow-padded foilage.

She glanced at Sparrow, still trembling with shivering breath.

One more glance around and Rose remembered the large braith they had used yesterday. It was still there, just a small pace over down the alley. Hands over her arms, she jogged to it and inspected what was left. What remained of the wood was slighty damp but it would work, the snow must have started falling just recently.

Having been living on the streets for a long while, survival skills like making fires was something she was forced to pick up on quickly. Contrary to, what she assumed to be popular belief, the wood alone was not enough to start the fire and it would not start immediately - small fuels like leaves and twigs were the essentials to start and keep the fire fed, and it was a slow building process, agonizing in the cold such as today.

A quick search yielded nothing, most of the leaves and twigs and bits of remaining grass were already damp. She rubbed her arms and stomped her feet, gritting her teeth, snow starting to pile on her hair and shoulders. She took another glance of her surroundings and the underbelly of the shack caught her eye. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, it was stupid really. She got under and snatched anything feesible,anything she had stored here. All just enough for one fire. Grunting, keeping her head down to keep from hitting the shoddy woodwork just above her head, she snatched the fire sticks she had kept there.

Nothing to cover her work, to keep the snow away, time wasting away, she hurried back to the braith, dropped the things, set up the fire sticks, and rubbed as fast as she could.

It was not the amount of force she put into it, she remember being told, it was how fast she could do it for more wooden punk, the ash. But, no doubt it was her current state, given the conditions she was under, that hindered her.

A frown developed over time.

Rose: "C'mon... C'mon..."

She paused to blow into her hands.

Once.

Twice.

Back to the sticks.

Smoke was smoldering off but wasn't thick enough.

Working, feeling numbness edging on her palms, barely able to feel her nose.

She grit her teeth.

And in that frustration she snapped the stick she was rubbing.

Something clicked, and she chucked down the fire stick in her hand and stomped at the ground with toothy grit teeth, face deeply scowled, wanting to scream but doing so would alert people and possible wake Sparrow - she didn't want him to see her like this. She was conscious of her actions enough to avoid stepping on the thrown-down fire stick. By the time that emotional rush washed away, she found the mist in her mind clearing to think more clearly.

She took a deep breath.

Rose: "Its okay... the other side of the stick is still fine... I can still use that..."

Rose hurried, the snow not letting up, picking the stick, and returning to the braith, the punk still smoldering, she set the usable side of the firestick and rubbed.

Rubbing, rubbing, and rubbing.

The process now considerably slower from the shortening splinter, but she persisted.

Rubbing and rubbing.

Eyes pinned to the sticks.

Eying the smoke, ignoring the cold as best as she could.

Her eyes widened at the sudden thickening of the punk. She set aside the sticks, set the punk in the tinder, enclosing it with practiced handling, and gently blew and blew and blew, feeling the heat build in her hands, the sizzling of the tinder gradually louder each breath, and the smoke foretelling her current desire.

Hot and burned enough, she set the tinder down and feed the embers the leaves, twigs, kindling more and more, carefully at times in caution of the fire weakening from some misshap, or worse case scenario having the fire burn itself out. Out of kindling, she quickly searched for adequate branches, breaking and tossing them into the fire.

And finally she smiled, hands out to gratefully take in the warmth. Rose blew into and rubbed her hands, finally realizing just how cold her hands had gotten. She only blew sufficient enough times before running back into the shack.

Rose: "C'mon Little Sparrow, wake up!"

Sparrow eye's cracked open and settled on Rose.

Deeming things going too slow, Rose took and carried Sparrow over to the fire to keep him from sleeping forever. Upon setting him down, he shot out his arms for the warmth and Rose swatted his hands away.

Rose, snapping: "Not so close! You're gonna burn yourself!"

Sparrow put out his hands, carefully now: "Sorry!"

They settled themselves there in silence, taking in the warmth, basking in it, embracing it, their shaking coming to a stop. Thereafter, Rose made sure she stored what was left of the firesticks before they became damp. Moments passing, Rose then took Sparrow in a hug in hopes of warming him up faster, her chin resting against the crown of his head. If he was not warm enough already, more so to appease her paranoia.

Sparrow: "Rose, I'm fine now. Can you let go?"

Rose: "Then warm me up for awhile, I'm still cold." At least, that was what she told him.

Rose starred into the waving fire, at the burning wood at the center of the braith, her mind wandering to her stomach: food was still a concern, from what she could remember they had not eaten in a couple of days, lucky enough to find water to drink in that mean time.

Most of the food they did manage to get or find, at the very least, scraps, she gave to Sparrow, more concerned about him seeing how he was the youngest. Now, all of that was now coming to a head, Rose can feel it edging closer and closer. Thinking it now, it was as though her own hunger was yawning at her conscience, just digging its fingers into her brain and letting gravity do the work.

She narrowed her eyes, staring absently at the fire waving at the air for its life, more alive than the both of them.

Then, she looked up, ahead at the fantasy of stones and stones of hard work, safety and imagination towering above all the houses in Bowerstone.

Lucky, too: that smallest of movement had her dodge the movement in the corner of her eye, hearing a muffled plop, and jumping.

Rose: "What was that?"

The aroma greeted her nostrils, blatantly.

Rose removed herself completely, moving away to Sparrow's right.

Instinctively, Sparrow reached his hand up to his head. That slick warmth with the feeling of bits and tiny chunks of things turning his entire face into a mask of disgust and panic, then furiously rubbing and wiping at his hair.

Rose: "Uhhh, yuck!"

All of that movement bringing the cold back, Sparrow shivered and hunched, held himself tightly, stepping and turning back to the fire.

Rose smirked: "Well... I hear that's lucky, like finding a four-leaf clover." She chuckled, "Though I think I prefer the clover."

After quickly determining his hair was fine, minus the smell, Sparrow looked to the Castle in the distance, "Rose? Do you think we'll ever get a place like that?" A hint of hope in his voice.

Rose joined Sparrow in watching the Castle, "...Well," Rose said, "I don't know. Castle Fairfax looks so nice in the snow, though. Reckon Lord Lucien's having roast duck this time of year."

Sparrow: "Have you ever tasted duck, Rose? It sounds good."

Rose regretted saying that, feeling an ache in her stomach now. Her imagining what this food would look like, the possibilities, taunted her from within her own mind, forcing her mind upon with brilliance - look at me, hey! Look, yer hungry, aren't'cha?

Rose forced the image and related thoughts away, then using that practiced voice she had come to be an adept from hiding things from Sparrow and bargaining and lying for necessities: "No. The only thing Dad really knew how to cook was boiling water. But, yeah. It does sound really good."

Her stomached blessed amen to the thought.

Sparrow suddenly grew quiet, and peripherally Rose saw him dip his head down.

Rose: "What is it, lil' Sparrow?"

A moment, then, not looking: "Rose... Why did... Mom and Dad have t'die?"

It was a question that she herself wanted to know - why them, indeed?

Because God is too cruel, is what she wanted to say, or something along those infuriated lines: ever since their parents died, suddenly thrusted into the world by their own with nothing but their minds and hands, well, Sparrow was only able to get this toy sword and toy gun - the closest to defensive arms, it felt as though only misfortune followed them, lucky scrapes here and there and sometimes purely that - luck.

But she needed to answer: "...I, I wish I knew, too, little brother." Now, dreamily to Castle Fairfax, "If only we could live there..."

Off to the right, in the distance, a rousing crowd was heard faintly cheering.

Sparrow: "What's going on there?"

Rose: "I don't know," Then gesturing to Sparrow, "Come on, little Sparrow."

They made their way out, out of the alley way, following the cobbled path past the small cobble clearing that of a tiny cul-de-sac for the surrounding houses and into the alley way leading deeper into the town. Down the way, they could see the small crowd from here before what looked to be a caravan.

And they would have been there already if not stopped by a particular man.

That man.

Ragged, disgruntled; clothes old, worn, keeping an odd sense of fashion, that sense best kept by the top hat he wore. His eyes piercing in an intruding way and his beard like frayed whiskers.

"'Ello ther', young Rose. You look hungry" That smile of his spoke jarring volumes, she felt those eyes of his like a torch close to her skin, up and down her body, "'Ave you... reconsidr'ed my of'fa?"

Rose felt the scowl on her face crease her face, failing to kept her voice in check, swinging her arms down: "I told you before, you poop rat - no!"

Rose snatched Sparrow's wrist and broke off, dragging him, continuing on towards the caravan.

Behind her, the man's voice was calm with sinister confidence, seemingly loud and clear despite the growing distance: "You'll be back... and Ah'll be wai'en fo' ya'..."

If Rose was to be thankful of one thing about winter it would be the cold. Her worrying about it, latching to her skin - it kept the kettle warm with the boiling temperatures inside it. The wind blowing against her keeping the lid from erupting.

Before the crowd: "Rose, let go, my arm hurts!"

Rose let go at once, "Oh! Sorry, lil Sparrow!" And knelt and rubbed his arm, inspecting for any sort of injury, "I didn't hurt you that much, did I?"

"Not really."

Rose mumbled: "...Hate that creep..."

Confirming there was no injury on Sparrow, Rose turned back to the human curtain that was the crowd before her, cursing at their small heights in comparison to the adults before them, jumping to see through the layers of heads and shoulders, being able to spot the sign of this caravan: Mystical Murgo.

Rose: "What's... happening...?"

Sparrow tried down under, trying to peer through the forest of legs, and was able to spot a top-hatted man inside of the caravan surrounded by an assortment of items and objects.

Jumping, Rose lost the balance of her footing, leaning to the left and bumped into the person next to her, "Oh! Sorry!" Then stared, this person, "Where are you from? I've never seen those clothes before."

"Shh..." The person hushed and pointed to the stall.

By height alone, this person was perhaps young, maybe around Rose's age, but the clothes were foreign and the air around them exuded an air of maturity of sorts, giving Rose the idea that perhaps this person was older.

Heavy green robe with intricate yellow designs of lines and swirls, it seemed across it, from the bottom to the hood, matched by the yellow hems of the sleeves and the hood, which no matter how many angles and how many times she squinted it was all black, as though the person's head or face was not there at all. Which, was silly to think about: the hood was held up by a head, evident by what she could make out the form of from the wide hood they wore. Little brass metal pieces like decorations dangled from the top of the hood.

Rose: "Wait... How're you able -"

"A-Ladies and A-gentlemen!" The lispy practiced voice snatched Rose's attention, "Aw'e have twaveled the land accumulating wondewous and mysterious awbjects for the modest pwice of... five gold." And he gestured, "Consider this: this truly is a magically mirror, for as long as you look into it it will make you beautiful."

Rose rolled her eyes.

A voice from the crowd: "I'll take it!"

"Very Wise!" Cheered the voice, "Now, just remember, the magic will only work if you look at it in complete darkness."

Rose face palmed; but looking to Sparrow - the boy's face was plastered with glee: wide open-mouthed smile, hands up to his chest balled into fists, and hopping. Stars were twinkling in his eyes. He bit his lip.

Rose glanced back down the path - no one there, then: "Calm down, lil' Sparrow."

Sparrow went down on his hands and knees, peering again through the legs. Not following her directions yet not disobeying them either, Rose let it slide.

"Ah! Now, this, is twuly a mawvel: this small unassuming box is actually a device created by the ancients, used by the wuw'es of the Old Kingdom, themselves. Turn the handle th'ee times and you'll be gwanted a single wish!"

Enough was enough, Rose: "There's no such thing as magic..."

Sparrow frowned for his sister, partly also for him as well: though a child, by no means was he ignorant of his surroundings, how much their situations was a hair tearer for Rose, even he at times being one of those factors. He became downcast - if only magic were real, if imagination was not a form of magic already, something he would have to thank for, kept him buoyed in the lapping waves of reality.

A listener had heard Rose as the crowd dispersed, seemingly lost interest:

"We live in grim times, indeed, if the young are too weary to believe in magic," The Green Robed person, woman, evident by her easy, wise voice, youthful yet mature, and she observed: "Most children your age believe eagerly."

Rose sighed, turning to the woman: "Look, I don't know how you can see through that hood of your's, but I'm telling you: that music box is rubbish." Saying with a dismissive wave of her hand.

But the Green Robed Woman: "That's exactly what the trader thinks, but think: the Old Kingdom is ancient history, filled with stories of magic, technology, creatures. Does he truly know what he's stumbled upon? Some part of you wants to believe."

Then, with that, the woman began to walk away, down the alley Rose and Sparrow had come from, them eying her.

Rose: "W-what, do you... really think it could be?"

Rose's mind snapped back to Castle Fairfax. All their troubles, all their pain. Luxury, pure luxury would be there, for as long as they were to stay; safe, safe from all of the dangers of the world. All of the pain... a solid, certain, fortified shelter... for the both of them...

The woman stopped, saying over her shoulder: "For five gold coins, you could have your answer."

Rose: "For five gold coins, we could eat for a week."

And the woman started again, continuing on her way: "Listen Rose: by the end of that week, you'll be no different than now, no different anywhere, no different to getting inside that castle you dream of so dearly." And she was gone, on her own way.

Rose's mind swirled, staring a moment.

If... If, it... were, true... If the box was indeed magical...

Sparrow tugged at Rose's sleeve: "Hey, Rose, how did that lady know your name?"

That input put the breaks on her train of thought, realizing: how did the woman know her name, having never seen or met her before? She would know, remember, definitely: the woman was a sore thumb, the only reason no one really took attention, she assumed, was because she stuck herself to the back of the whole crowd.

Regardless, Rose turned to Sparrow: "What if it is true?This could probably be our only way out of here, Sparrow. Come on, there's gotta be some people around here that'll let us do... do, something."

Passing the caravan, they didn't need to walk far:

A guard waved for them: "Oi, kids, c'mere e'minute!"

Them approaching:

Sparrow: "Hi, Derek!"

Rose: "Lose something?"

Derek: "My arrest warrants!" And he pointed the way to their left, "Flew off in that direction. I wou'd ge' 'em my'self, but, Ah''ve got to keep my post, make sure the law'r's kept around here. You know how it is."

Sparrow: "Okay. So, if we find 'em, uh, one gold per piece?"

Rose, however: "Sparrow, that's too much t'ask for!" Granted, they would reach their goal quicker but to demand such an extortion off the bat?

Derek chuckled: Wan'ing pay fer work? Sound like a working citizen already! Unfortunately, I left my wallet at my quarters, only got one piece in my pocket. Keep in mind that people have their own troubles, young one."

Then Derek's eyes became sympathetic: "Knowing you two for a while now, I know you need the money for food, but, so does everyone in Old Town. 'Eard the harvest wasn't well this year, they've risen the price as such, some worse in some areas."

Sparrow frowned, but either way: "Oh, okay. Well, if we see those, uh... what does a warrant look like, Rose?"

Derek answered for her: "They're just slips of paper with writing on wanted criminals, shouldn't be too hard t'find 'em.

Rose nodded, and, hands planted on Sparrow's shoulder, pushed Sparrow along as she began walking before he could make anymore requests: "Alright, Derek, we'll get'em if we see 'em."

Sparrow struggled, removed himself from Rose's grasp, rubbing his shoulders, whining: "Rose!"

Rose, merely: "C'mon, lil Sparrow."

And made their way, following the direction indicated by Derek where they, again, didn't have to go far for something calling their attention: a man with a sort of box standing on three legs before a stage with a background of a village or town of some sort, a small crowd was building.

Rose stared before turning away: "Mmm... C'mon, Sparrow, we gotta find-"

But looking for her brother, Rose found he going off to the stage.

Rose: "Spar-row!" She sighed irritably, before following.

The man with the box turned to Rose's voice, seeing her and Sparrow, and his face lit up: "Ah! Jus' the two I needed! Listen, this box here is going to change the face of portraits as we know it! No need to sit for hours on end, no need to worry of mistakes or accidents during the painting. This box will solve evere'thin!"

The man was in dark overalls, a brown-orange sweater underneath, his cap had goggles, and his long nose was noting.

He motioned to the box next to him: "This box will capture a moment exactly the way it was at the moment it is used!"

A voice from the small crowd: "Rubbish! Sell your hog-wash somewhere else, Barnum!"

"Well!" Barnum kept a refined manner, though despite the cold, hunger, and such, the two could see the distinction of him becoming flustered, "How 'bout a demonstration?" He then turned to them, "How 'bout it kids? I promise it won't hurt you."

Rose eyed the proclaimed moment-capturing box: the box itself was small with a protruding front becoming smaller and smaller till pointed with a cylindric, glossy... thing, she could best describe with her vocabulary. A sort of cloak, she assumed by analogy, was draped behind. The legs, she decided, were connected by a sort of flexible strap, at least she assumed, they appeared to be connected at a juncture at the center beneath the box.

It, looked harmless enough.

Rose: "Well -"

Sparrow: "Yes!" That enthusiasm returned, the believer.

Rose: "Hold on! We can't jus' do this for free!"

Barnum reached and pulled a gold piece from his pocket: "Will this be an acceptable fee?"

One moment it was in Barnum's hands, the next swiped by Sparrow. The moment after, Rose found herself being pulled to the stage by her brother.

Rose: "Hey - hey! Sparrow!"

Sparrow: "C'mon, Rose, the man said it wouldn't hurt, and we get a gold piece!"

Rose frowned, standing on the stage now she had no choice, "...Alright."

Barnum positioned himself behind the box, "Now, all you have to do, is strike a pose and this box will transfarify your moment. Got that?"

Rose: "Wait - Tran-what?"

Sparrow: "Yep!"

Barnum ducked under the cloak of the box, a smile seen spreading before he disappeared: "Right! Strike a pose, my young friends! Ooo... I can't wait for this delivericum...!"

Rose, mumbled with narrowed eyes: "Does he even know what he's saying..."

Barnum: "Aaanytime now, my young friend."

Rose blinked, stalled: unsure of the capabilities of the box and what to do accordingly. Sparrow was already standing tall and straight with his arms curled to flex his heroic muscles.

Barnum: "C'mon, now, no need to be shy."

On the spot, the clock snailing along, being prompt, Rose acted: twisting her body with her left leg and arm forward, her arm tilted down.

And their whole world flashed white in a brief, overwhelming moment, them recoiling and blinking as the crowd cooed in amazement.

Barnum's head popped back up from behind the box, "Wondrous! This is going to be more popular than that pox!"

Recovering and recomposing themselves, stepping down from the stage, they heard Barnum continue: "Now! I just need to wait three months for the picture to develify, and I can start showing it around -!"

"Three months!" Came a voice from the crowd, carrying the unanimous sentiment of everyone else.

Having learned how to spot trouble from being on the streets, Rose and Sparrow scurried with skips in their steps into a nearby alley, continuing their task to find Derek's warrants. Reaching the end of the alley and turning the corner the whimpering got their attention: a young boy in ragged clothes, not surprising to see in Old Town, the two themselves were practically a testament to that - having their own clothes becoming patchwork-ish over time, slashing his toy sword at a dog, who was cowering with glassy black orbs.

His voice was fitting for a bandit-in-training: "C'mere' boi... Ah' got'ta treat fo'ya..."

His looks, his voice, the siblings knew the boy: Rex, the neighborhood bandit, self-entitled. The only person fearsome enough to power him, supposedly, was his mom. Rose and Sparrow were his rag dolls to ridicule and pummel once upon a time, when they found themselves wandering into Old Town from desperation. They never really crossed this part of Old Town because it was his turf, his words, living where they were primarily because of Derek, the hero taking the time to watch for the bully until he took his flare somewhere else.

But by the bottled frustration or not, Rose found herself racing up and behind Rex just as he was about to swing, Sparrow startled and grabbing cold air in going for Rose's arm.

Rose: "Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" Her voice being the only imposing trait about her.

Rex turned, and Rose felt a pang of regret: his crooked smile revealing his crooked teeth, eyes like she were staring down a fearl hound - he seemed to exude an air of imposing ferocity.

"'Avin' a'bit a' fun! Wha's et t'you?"

Things went too fast: as fast as she could register it, Rex's face was suddenly very close to her's, a flash of white light, and a pang smashed into her forehead. She yelped and she dropped to the ground, rolling up and holding her stinging forehead, kicking her feet and feeling tears swell in her eyes.

A kid from the tiny on-lookers: "He hit a girl!"

Rex turned, smiled, recognizing a boy off to the side: "Yea'? An' now Ah'm gonna 'it a'nother one!"

Hearing this, Rose's eyes snapped open, turned her body, suddenly dizzy, and, still holding her forehead, saw Sparrow and with her freehand tried pulling herself across the cold earth. But her body was locking up, not listening to her commands, as though all the hunger and hints of malnourishment was finally flooding and washing over her, all the scaffolding and supports of her willpower being torn down.

She could only watch, unaware she was gritting her teeth and the air was burning from a boiling within her.

Sparrow, having watched everything, found himself acting, instinct overriding any conscious input. His arm was a blur, his toy gun in his hand an appearing magic act. He pulled its trigger, and the projectile crashed between Rex's eyes - all happening during Rex's rush for him - and the bully yelped and held his face. Seeing this opening Sparrow rushed, dropping his gun, leaped, toy sword in both hands and high. The toy sword arched down in a dull, heavy-ish swish and bashed onto the crown of Rex's head with a resounding knock. That forcing Rex's head down, Sparrow sucked in air and swiftly swung his leg up with all his might, the tip of his shoe jabbing into Rex's nose, throwing his head back like a spring and off his feet. A spurt of blood arched through the air. He slammed on the back of his head and crumpled in a heap.

An awed silence settled upon everything.

Nobody moved.

Rose stared.

The on-lookers awed.

Rex unmoving, a tiny red pool growing at his nose.

Sparrow didn't put down his sword.

He stepped close.

And Rex sprang up, hearing Sparrow's footsteps, forgetting his toy. Both hands were cupping his nose, the lines of his folded hands becoming red, beading nearing his knuckles, and crimson streaks flowed from under his hands down to his chin and blossomed into red splotches onto the cold ground.

Blood spurt from his lips with tears in his eyes, the evil gravel in his gone, now weak and fearful: "S'dob, s'dob! Lea' me alone, ye' nu'ah!" And ran off.

It heralded by the cheers from the neighborhood kids: "The Bandit's socked! The Bandit's socked! Yay!"

And some voices:

"Did'ja see that?!"

"Yeah! He was so fast, it was almost like magic!"

Sparrow crossed straight to Rose, who was finally getting onto to their knees, able to move again: "Rose! Are you okay - are you bleeding?!"

Sparrow got to Rose's side and took her and helped her onto her feet, as such Rose looked at her hand to check if she were actually bleeding, the initial pain implying perhaps she had - there was nothing, only smears of dirt and dried flakes of dirty skin.

Rose: "Did you see 'im-"

Sparrow: "Yeah, I did! And you need to be careful!"

Rose gently pushed Sparrow away to stand on her own, rubbing her forehead, and caught herself when she swayed, "Thanks, but, I could'a taken him..."

Sparrow: "Rose... every time we get food, you give me most of it. You look more skinny than usual."

Rose didn't want to be reminded, lest her stomach roar in desperation for attention. It was coming close to that: an aching pain creeping on. And in Sparrow's touch, it were as though the cold were transferring from Sparrow's hand to her bones.

Rose didn't respond and instead went to the dog, stumbling and catching herself and insisting she was fine. The dog shrunk under the gaze of Sparrow and Rose, still whimpering in fear and anticipation.

Sparrow approached, at a distance that Rose deemed safe, and reached out: "Poor guy... we're not gonna hurt you. I think that's obvious," He stopped when the dog craned his head out and sniffed, and in turn licked his fingers.

Sparrow giggled, and pet the dog, "Aww... it doesn't look like you're hurt," Then his face lit up and turned to Rose, "Hey Rose, can we keep him!?"

Any ounce of fear, apprehension - the dog was slump, head dipping, and now was straight and tall, its brown eyes glittering like perals, giving a joyous bark.

But Rose: "Sparrow, we can't! We can barely get enough food just for ourselves, remember?"

Seeing Sparrow's face fall with the dog hanging his head back down, it reading the situation clear as crystal, it would have torn her heart if not the logic of their reality.

Rose: "I'm sorry, but we can't." The snatch Rose made was meant to be a grab for Sparrow's wrist, which she did catch but perhaps that blow from Rex kindled the frustration in her when tugging Sparrow to his fee, "C'mon. We gotta find those warrants."

Going on their way, Rose back to holding her forehead, Sparrow looked back and waved at the dog, who was watching them longingly, until it disappeared from sight. From that small area, they were now in another alley, which they weren't even out of when Rose felt the whole world spin, swaying with a waving motion in her head.

Sparrow took immediate notice, he raised his free hand in preparation to catch Rose. By how Rose let go of Sparrow and now held her head with both hands, Sparrow took it upon himself to take, carefully guiding, Rose to a wall for her to lean against, to rest.

Rose stayed that way a moment before she pushed herself off, stepped, and tilted off to the right, feeling a pull towards that direction - being caught by Sparrow again and replaced back against the wall.

Sparrow: "Okay. Maybe I should handle the, uh, the - I'll work for the gold, you just take it easy for now."

Rose: "No - Sparrow, I'm fine."

Pushing off the wall, it was only a repeat scenario.

Sparrow: "Rose, stop! I'll handle things!"

Rose: "I said I'm -"

"Yeah, and I bet Rex is fine too! Just - just, go easy for now, c'mon, Rose, let me help you sometimes. Well, us, right now."

Rose opened her mouth but a wave of nausea hit her and put a hand to her mouth, taking deep breaths. Sparrow's attention was to something else, caught from his peripherals, and went and stooped down for the thing right next to them on the ground. Picking it from the ground, Sparrow looked at it a moment, then presented it to Rose.

Sparrow: "Hey Rose, this is one of the warrants we're looking for, right?"

Rose took a moment to recompose herself before reading the contents of the paper, mumbling: "Leroy "Unremarkable" Stone... Known... Leory Has-Hair... Wanted for - yeah... This is one of them..."

Sparrow rolled up the slip, "I'll hold onto it, you look like yer gonna throw up."

Rose couldn't aruge anymore. Rex had knocked her down, but the affects of that injury were too much to ignore, and, as pointed out before by Sparrow, she wasn't exactly the most healthy out of them both.

"Fine... Just, be careful, okay. At least stay in my sight..."

Worry swam in Sparrow's eyes, Rose recognized that look, he was so close: "Was Rex's hit too much? Do I need to go back to Derek for help 'er something?"

Rose considered, but she shook her head: "No... Anyone can get those warrants, we... we gotta fin'em..."

Sparrowed frowned but complied, but first going to Rose, his arm going to Rose's back: "Can you walk on your own?"

Rose stared down at the ground a moment before taking a step: Rose was a wobbly table trying to keep balance of marbles on its desktop, rolling and rolling and rolling around, but she was getting used to her ill-body. Step, after step, after step, proof was shown to Sparrow that she was getting able to withhold her own.

So, Sparrow removed himself and went up ahead, glancing back occasionally at Rose walking along the wall with her hand running across its rough, ice-cold surface, a hand still to her mouth.

Onward, Sparrow spotted and obtained another warrant on the ground near a couple of boxes next to the stairs of a warehouse. In that meantime of Sparrow looking at the paper's details to be sure it was, indeed, a warrant -

"Hhaeee... Wharez mi'botl' gon'? Gat tuh - tuh... tuh, tah, tuh. Back, warez...?"

"Look at cher'self! Tha' bottle's only going to make yor life wors'! Lis'en t'yerself yer, even makin' the effort t' stand, no less!"

"Aiieee kin ssstand! Lo-loo'..."

"Y'know what - I'm glad that bottle of yor's is gon', you can shape up that way."

Carefully turning her head, Rose spotted a rotund decently dressed woman, by Old Town standards, with a man who looked no better than her and Sparrow combined, maybe worse, if anyhow possible - a tramp.

The Tramp ginned widely, "Ahhh-hhhhaaa... Ah no wher'ittis..." And pointed a limp finger down across the way into a small alley, "S'ova theh..."

The Woman scoffed, "There?! That's Magpie's alley! Bet even yor' drunken self knows how he deals with his things taken."

"Bu'... Bu' m'bottle..."

Rose noticed Sparrow following her eyes, "Its nothing lil' Sparrow, let them deal with their own -"

But Sparrow was off, towards to arguing two.

Rose: "Sparrow!"

Her call fell no deaf ears.

Rose sighed, she glanced at the objects and light poles she could use for leverage to keep herself up, took a deep breath, and stepped her way across, following Sparrow.

The marbles rolling and rolling, nausea lapping at her conscience, a sensing a sort of rush - an odd taste coming to her mouth. She paused to let it subside, at the very least prepare herself for the wild gush she was anticipating.

But it didn't happen, the waves receded, returning to normal.

In catching up:

"...gold piece..."

Admittedly, that was all she needed to hear to peak her interest.

Rose: "Hello. I'm sorry, hope my brother isn't causing much trouble."

Tramp: "Psshhaww... nut'tut'all! He'ss gun fun-fin' m'bottle! Fur'a gol' peece!"

Woman: "I think he meant find the bottle for me so the boy could have a gold coin."

Sparrow walked away, carefully guiding Rose to the boxes where he had found the second warrant.

After being put beside a box to lean against, Rose barely moved her head to glance back at the two: "Sparrow... you're not serious on giving that man his bottle?"

Sparrow, grimacing: "Hell no-"

Rose's hand smacked down Sparrow's greasy head, "Spar - row!"

Sparrow's hand went to his head, "Ow! Sorry sorry! Ow, you hit really hard!"

Something Rose agreed with by the waving of her hand, the pain of the hard impact stinging her palm and fingers.

Sparrow: "No, no I'm not," And he grimaced, "I don't like how he smells."

From the little the wind was nice enough to waft the Tramp's scent her way when she was caught up with Sparrow, she agreed.

Rose: "Yeah... Oh! I think that's the Magpie guy,"

Follow to where Rose was looking, Sparrow saw a man, another tramp it looked, in a small alley, sitting up, asleep, with his knees to his chest and head bobbing. Beside him was the bottle that was requested, a scroll of paper sticking out from the top.

Rose continued: "I think that's the bottle we're looking for. It looks like he's asleep."

Sparrow: "I'll go get it, just don't say anything."

Rose furrowed her brows - that was along the lines of something she was supposed to say. But, admittedly...

Sparrow took Rose's silence as an agreement and headed off, and slowed and took careful steps from the entrance of the alley onward. Slowing and slowing, tip toeing now in being in the vicinity of Magpie. He raised a thumbs-up in assurance he was doing fine.

Rose watched on, holding her breath. Possibilities of what might, could, and likely will happen if Magpie is wakes as Sparrow is swiping the bottle. If what the lady said was something to go on... worst case scenario Sparrow would die, or maybe get an injury which would slowly leech him over time. She held her breath. So enthralled she forgot about her episode of vertigo. She stared on, each possibility weighing heavier with each advance Sparrow made.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The snore was a crescendo, a ticking of how long Sparrow had before Magpie awoke, but he kept steady.

Step.

Step.

He was close now, just need to reach for the bottle -

"WHAzzuhhh... he'shhiveeehhh..."

Both Sparrow and Rose jumped at the abrupt sleep talk. Sparrow freezing at the occurrence, remembering the situation, in the case of somehow knocking something over and alerting Magpie awake; Rose almost let out a yelp but it was the only time she was grateful of an illness, her sudden movements had her world spin and that lapping in her throat returned, shutting her up.

Sparrow stared at Magpie a moment.

Nothing - still sleeping.

Sparrow reached down and snatched the bottle and fast-walked out and back to Rose.

"...Sparrow..." Rose said, hand close to her mouth, leaning against the box, "Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?" Sparrow looked his sister up and down with an arched brow, "I'm fine. Are you?"

Rose: "...Just, give me a minute."

Sparrow did, and Rose pushed herself off the box.

"Alright... Let's go."

Returning, Sparrow helping and slowing to get Rose along, they were before the the Lady and the Tramp again. Whereupon approaching them, Sparrow gave the bottle to the woman instantly, without hearing word from either of the, and the Lady dug into her pocket and a gold piece was given, then slid into Sparrow's pocket.

"Hold on. There's some paper in the bottle," The Lady took it out and skimmed it before handing it out to Sparrow, seeing that he still had the roll of papers in his hands, "I think this is your's."

Sparrow took it, looked at the details, he recognized the structure, and to Rose: "Another warrant! That's three!"

Rose weakly smiled, "Only two more..."

The Lady: "Dear gods, child! Are you okay?"

The Tramp: "Yeah. Yer looking a bit pale,"

The Lady turned to the Tramp: "Wow, you sobered up quickly - actually, hold on that a minute. Hang on, young lady, I'll see if I have spare potion for you to drink."

Rose: "Oh... No, you don't need t -"

Sparrow: "Are you sure that's okay?"

The Lady waved dismissively, "Psshh..." And entered her house, a moment passed and came out with a vial full potion, pulling the cork out and handing it to Rose, "Here. Drink it slow, not all at once. You'll only make yourself more sick if you do so."

Rose: "Oh... Uh, okay..."

Rose did as advised, taking careful sips and she was already feeling her sickness washing away, little by little, feeling her vertigo lessen, the dizziness becoming minute light-headedness, the nausea gradually disappearing.

Rose: "Um... Thank you..."

Another dismissive way of her hand, the Lady: "Don't worry about it. Learn how to accept hospitality, it'll make the hard things in life go easy."

A sheepish frown curved Rose's lips as she dipped her head, not making eye contact, "Um... Okay... Thank you..."

All the while Sparrow was smiling that things, even just for this moment, was letting up.

Rose, more confidently now: "Thank you."

The Lady smiled: "I have my own thing to worry about, but, your welcome."

Sparrow, after taking in their surroundings during the conversation, pulled at Rose's sleeve, "Rose, look, there's another one!"

Rose waved good-bye as she followed her brother.

Another warrant was found, on the ground before a light post.

Sparrow hopped in place: "Only one more!"

Rose: "But, where is it? I mean, besides those stairs," She pointed to them diagonally across from them, "And that warehouse up there."

Sparrow: "Let's cheek the stairs then."

They did, by a glance, before Rose pulled Sparrow in by grabbing his hand and pushing him away.

Sparrow: "E-Hey! Rose, what's wrong!?"

"There's nothing over there, there's no warrant there."

"But you don't know that, we didn't even see if a warrant was there!"

"I did. And there isn't."

To prove her point, Rose shoved Sparrow with all her might that her body could allow.

Sparrow frowned: "Alright!" And walked on, towards the warehouse.

Rose followed behind, ice chilling her spine, hands shaking, taking more and more sips of the potion, mind drifting to the fallen wagon, the coffins standing, on their sides, or stacked atop each other, snow piling on the unmoving body of a man in robes. An image captured in her mind, the more she thought of that body the more that body disappeared until two bodies of children took its place.

Sparrow glanced back, and worry spread on his face: "Rose, are you okay?"

"Yeah... Fine..." Thinking it now, the air was becoming hotter and a minor burning sensation was building in her stomach.

Sparrow stopped, staring a moment before, "Alright. The lady said not to drink so much, remember?"

Rose nodded, taking another sip before corking the vial and keeping the potion in-hand for now.

Going up the stairs, Sparrow spotted a man before the large heavy door of the warehouse, staring intently with his arms crossed, hand tapping at his forearm. At an interval, the man wiped the cold sweat off of his brow then propping his chin on his hand and hunching, still eying the door.

The two approached but their footsteps were silence to the man.

Rose, this time: "Hello. Is there something wrong."

The man jumped, finally realizing that he had a two-man audience, "Oh! Oh, uh... you see, ehm... You two, don't happen to have a... fear of, beetles... do'ya?"

Rose: "No. That's ridiculous."

Sparrow: "Why? Are you afraid?"

The man's eyes shifted: "Well... Eh-e-I - yeah... There are beetles in there right now, and I gotta get in t'make sure all of my stock is intact."

Sparrow: "Well... Y'know, maybe for one gold we can do that for you."

The man's face lit up like the stars in the night sky, arms shooting out wide: "You would do that fer me! Oh, thank Avo!" His hand stabbed into his pocket, then stopped, assessing what he was doing, "Pay, after the deed is done."

The man went to the door, pulled a handle, and gave a sharp tug to crack the door open, peeking in, eyes shifting, scanning the room, and turned to Sparrow and Rose: "Okay. The buggers are on the second floor, up the stairs - oh wait!"

The man's hand smack onto his head, realizing: "You only have a piece of wood! No doubt they're -"

Sparrow merely pulled his toy gun, and the man's face was like the sun.

"Ah-ha! Yes yes yes! That'll do it!" He tugged the door wide for Sparrow and Rose to enter, "Shoot the beetles, shoot t'kill. And, uh, while yor inside try not to break any of my stock, okay?"

Sparrow, remembering he hadn't reloaded his gun since his fight with Rex, loaded his gun as he walked in "Got it."

Rose: "I'll make sure none of them get out."

.The Man: "As long as they're gone and none of my stuff is broken,"

Them inside, the man pulled the door closed. Inside, the buzzing of wings and what sounded to be soft crunching came from the upstairs floor.

Sparrow, eying that floor: "We should probably check this part of the building first."

Rose uncorked the potion, took a sip, and recorked it: "That's what I was about to say."

A quick check yielded nothing.

Sparrow took one step on the stairs when a familiar face was framed on the nearby window: "Oi, kid!:

Rose frowned, brows furrowing, she caught the glance thrown her way, that same magnifying glass of perversion upon her, "What, do you want?"

Sparrow looked to Rose, eyes wide: her voice had never been so ice cold.

Just by her voice, that grin... that grin that always spread across his face; he gave another glance to Rose.

That was the only ounce of attention he gave her before returning to Sparrow: "Balthazar owes protection money t'Nicky 'The Nickname', an' he hasn't paid. If y'smash up his - 'Ey! Where're you goin'!"

Sparrow flew up the stairs, two steps per step until the tip of his shoe caught the edge of the second to last step and face planted onto the floor of the second floor, groaning. Regardless, he pushed himself up and disappeared behind the floor paneling.

There, the crunching of exoskeletal bones and dying yelps resounded the room.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

A fourth.

A fifth.

The sixth and last - a blur threw itself down from the second floor and landed on Rose's shoulder. A smell wafted into her nose, a small green spot growing on her shoulder. Rose stared at the green fleshy piece a moment until the realization hit her and she yelped, face twisting to fear, and jumped and wiped furiously at her shoulder.

Thereafter, Sparrow swaggered down the stairs, grinning ear-to-ear, and at the foot of the steps, blew imaginary smoke from his toy gun to the man smoldering at the window, gripping its framing.

"You lil - ! Did you know what Ah had t'do t'get those beetles!?" He pushed himself off the window, his eyes becoming gun barrels, "Ah'll remember this..." And walked off.

Rose and Sparrow stared at the window a moment before they addressed each other:

Rose: "You okay?"

"I should be asking you that."

"Why?" Rose regretted that - that face she knew of Sparrow returned.

"I know he's trying to have you do something you don't like, Rose."

Rose froze, the air suddenly colder than normal. Then her face burned: where had Sparrow heard such a thing? At the very least, she had made sure to be tight lipped about this issue and that Sparrow had no way of knowing.

But she played it safe: "What do you mean 'something I don't like', Sparrow?"

He shrugged: "I don't know. I just know he wants you to do something you don't want to do, that's all I know."

Rose sighed in relief, being sure it seemed like a deep breath, "Let's just get out gold from... Balthazar, I assume his name is."

Rose knocked on the door: "We're done!"

The door cracked open, nervous shifting eyes peeking through, glancing about, "Really?"

Sparrow: "Yep! You can go..." He waved his finger to the stairs, trying to find a word to describe what he needed to say.

Rose: "To the second floor."

"Right! To the second floor and see for yourself.

Balthazar slipped in and did. Him coming down thereafter the two were under a beaming sun again: "Haha! A massacre, what, a, massacre - well done!" Fishing into his pocket, out came a piece of gold and tossed it to Sparrow, who caught it, "Thank you, kids! Thank you thank you!"

Then his glee was replaced by puzzlement: "Now that I think about it... how 'id those bugga's get in?"

Leaving, them going down the steps to the warehouse, Rose: "Wow, you made him really happy. Didn't know you were so good at fighting."

Sparrow: "Uh..." He frowned, eyes shifting as he looked for an answer, then finally shrugged.

Rose: "So, how many warrants do we have so far?"

Sparrow was about to count the many they had when a bark caught their attention. They looked and Sparrow only saw one thing when he broke off towards the dog.

Saying: "The last warrant!"

Rose followed after hearing this.

Sparrow scooped up the warrant from the ground, not even checking it, before he pet, hugged, and running his hands along the dog's fur.

Because Sparrow didn't do it, Rose took that same warrant to be sure it actually was a warrant: "Hey, he found one for us," A smile pulled her lips, "Good boy!"

Then she saw the dog's eyes, and her face fell: "Aw, I know, you're sweat,"

Sparrow looked to Rose with that same face again, but she didn't need to say anything for him to remove himself.

Rose: "But I told you before, we can't keep you. C'mon, lil' Sparrow. We've got all the warrants Derek needs."

Sparrow: "Yeah..."

Yet again, a repeat scenario, Sparrow looked back as they reentered the alley that brought them to that part of Old Town and waved. Making their way through that small area where Sparrow destroyed Rex the group of kids were still there. In passing by, one of the kids stopped them:

"Hey,"

Sparrow: "Yeah?"

Rose: "Is something wrong?"

The kid was rubbing his thumbs on his fingers: "I saw a... uh, a man with a broken hat walking by, and I... I think he said something about your name," He pointed to Sparrow, "Just, um... wanted to tell you about it."

Sparrow saw the boy dip his head down, looking up and turning away. Turning, he never thought he would see Rose look so much older with her face creased with a scowl. The scowl itself, he knew, was aimed at no one in particular, but the poor boy didn't know that.

Sparrow glanced between Rose and the boy, took Rose's hand, said thanks to the boy, and pulled Rose on their way to the elongated alley going back to Murgo's caravan. Which, they stopped inside when seeing the man at the center of the alley.

He crossed his arms, his face that of a grumpy cat's: "Stop right there, you runts."

Rose said nothing, glaring, scowl deepening, the fire growing high inside her.

Sparrow: "What the hell do you want."

"Shut it, Big Man. Thos' war'ants yor c'llecting - I want 'em."

Sparrow: "So does Derek."

"Yeah, but yor gon' give it t'me, see? Otha'wise they'll be tru'ble."

Sparrow: "Yeah, trouble for us, THEN trouble for you when we tell everyone what you really want."

That struck him, his face blank but consideration swimming across his face, "All right,! Fine! What's he paying? A gold piece? Ah got a gol' piece right 'ere, save you the walk back."

Sparrow stared. He pursed his lips, gripping Rose's hand, who he could feel was still tunneling her hate at the man before them. Balthazar... the beetles in his warehouse, his fear being used against him. That and the fact this man was associated with the criminals in the warrants, spotting the name he had spoken before - Nicky 'The Nickname.' If this man took the warrants... what would happen to Derek, the people of Old Town, to them?

Sparrow kept staring, trying to figure a path to slip past this man by his peripherals, but this alley was too elongated that there was so little space for them to slip by this man, him taking up most of it by standing in the middle - at least, that what it seemed to him. He tried playing the faking game, looking down with shifting eyes to look indecisive. He miscalculated: the alley was wider than he thought, enough that they could run past without trouble, but reach was their enemy.

A fully grown man.

Two still growing kids.

The man stepped forward: "Wha's it gonna be?"

Sparrow looked up at his face, by his decision before with the beetles, and this guy looked like one to hold a grudge, rejection would only go bad, with him having the initiative.

There was only one way.

"Well?"

Sparrow pulled his gun, fired.

The man jerked, stepping back, screaming and holding his right eye.

Sparrow broke for it, pulling Rose, swerving to the right and getting thrown to the ground by a hard kick to his gut, his gun flying out of his hand and yelping. He rolled up, held his stomach, rolling on the ground.

The man: "You lil' - !"

The man was thrown to the ground, looking up at his assailant to see a furious balverine of a child, Rose, finally released and raring to dish out its furry.

Blow after blow, hooks, straights, jabs, bashes to the crown - wherever there was an opening to his face, at the very least his head, Rose struck, heightened by the fire inside of her finally spewing by the wind granted to it, this moment and situation. If she were aware, Rose would have realized how good she was with her fists. Which, as the steam was blown, she regained some awareness and a smile stretched her face at the sight of this man finally leaking blood by her hand. She raised both fists and hammered them down again and again, feeling joy at revenge and her vision snapped to the right; her mind crashed to a stop, reason finally slipping back in and trying to process what had just happened.

A fist swerved into her view and she was looking left.

Another fist and she was thrown to the ground.

On the cold stone, pain wormed its way back to her conscience and she touched her face to feel the welts swelling, not so farfetched in a stupor when she saw the shoe. White light. A pang of pain under her right eye. Another force hit her face. The blood on her hands told her that her nose had been hit. Kicks and stomps pummeled her body.

And cry split the air: "Derek!"

The man turned to Sparrow: on his knees, holding his stomach, and leaning against the wall.

Sparrow screamed out his throat: "Derek! Help! Derek!"

Footsteps clapped their way.

And the man turned his heels and ran off down the alley, not before Derek skidded around the corner, saw the deed done, "Halt!"

When there was no comply, Derek fired off his gun. In giving chase, he paused, glancing at Sparrow and Rose before Sparrow waved his hand for him to go and he did.

Sparrow looked for the potion vial and found it nearby: Rose had dropped it and now a long crack trailed up the body of the vial, slowly leaking. A stroke of luck, considering that Rose herself was like a cannon that had just fired itself when she pounced at that man. Uncorking the vial he went to Rose. who was unmoving, hands to her face, blood seeping between them.

Sparrow knelt, grunting at the pain in his abdomen: "Rose... Here. Drink the rest."

Rose removed one hand to reach for the potion and Sparrow saw this window of his sister's bloodied and bruised face. She stopped her hand to wipe her hand on her clothes for the blood, and once taking it she got to her knees, turned away and drank, gratefully sipping. The vial was drained, now empty, and with her turning to Sparrow the evidence was still lingering: the smeared blood, the minor swelling, and the blossoming bruises, her eye slightly dark.

Having nothing to use, Rose turned away again and resorted to using her skirt to wipe away the best she could by the reach, then to using her sleeve.

Sparrow: "You okay, Rose?"

Rose: "I should be asking you that, you got kicked in the stomach."

Sparrow pointed: "Look at you, and all that blood on your skirt - I'm fine!"

They stayed there in the alley, checking their persons for any other injuries when Derek came back, huffing and puffing.

Derek: "Go' away. Damn him. Ah' didn't think Arfur wou'd go so low t' attack children. Do you have my warrants? With them, Ah'll be able to put away his criminal friends."

Sparrow unraveled the warrants and handed them to Derek, who counted them up: "Yep, that's all of 'em! Now, normally pay wouldn't be done for this kind of work, but," He fished a gold coin from his pocket, but, "And, for a sympathetic bonus," In giving the coin he had also pulled a potion from his belt and handed it to Rose.

Rose: "Thank you," And she uncorked it and sipped it.

Sparrow: "Actually, can you do something about that man as soon as you can? He tried to pay us to break Baltha - Bal - Bal -"

Rose: "Balthazar."

Sparrow: "Yeah, he tried to pay us to break his stuff after he put beetles in his warehouse. And, uh..." He glanced at Rose: "He... wants... Rose..."

Rose's head snapped to Sparrow, him suddenly nervous and looking away from Rose.

Hearing all this, Derek was a flip book of emotions: stoic to the pay job, interest in the beetles, and slipping into anger about the last.

Derek took a deep breath: "You two have been through a lot. If it were my choice, I would have brought you two in, but, my life and my duty are in the way - some are more better in keeping their life straight. No promises, I'll do everything I can to get Arfur and... No promises but I'll try to keep an eye on your alley."

Hearing this, Rose didn't notice the tears until they slipped from her eyes.

Sparrow warmly smiled: "Thanks, Derek."

And he smiled; "Yor welcome. Now, I gotta get these turned in," He held up the warrants, "Ah'll be back as soon as I can. Take care of yor'selves."

Sparrow: "We will, thanks!"

Derek smiled before going on his way.

After being sure Rose was fully healed by Sparrow's inspection she made him drink the last contents in case he had internal bleeding, her words.

They ambled out of the alley, passing the stage - all empty, Barnum gone - and was now before Derek's post box. Rose counted their amount while Sparrow tried getting peeks of the inside of the caravan from where they stood.

Rose: "We have four now, we just need one more."

Sparrow glanced around: "But, what's there left to -"

"Get in the house Belinda!"

The two jumped in hearing that womanly nail cross the chalk board. They looked to the source, seeing a sour-faced woman that could rival Rose's anger streak on the balcony of a nearby house.

"Clean that floor, Belinda! You're no betta' than that no-good, Monty. And you... Push off, before I call the guards! You animal..."

The woman disappeared into the house, while Monty, the man before the house, head hung, shuffled to a stall selling alcohol.

Sparrow beat his wings, following the wind, and Rose had no choice but to follow.

Sparrow: "Hi, there! Is something wrong?"

Monty looked up at Sparrow and Rose: "Oh, children! My situation is unbearable! Me and Belinda... oh... I love her so, but her mother -"

Rose, eyes widened and furrowing brows, "That's her mother?"

That topic a hand, Rose fought to remember their mother, as much as she could remember she was never as harsh as Belinda's mother. Yes, she would shout and raise her voice at times but it was usually within reason given the situation. Rose looked down and smiled, remembering the times their mother would raise her voice at Father, too kind of a soul, almost encouraging their fun. But, overall, it was clear to the both of them that she care about them dearly.

"Yes," Monty confirmed, "And she treats her like a servant - no doubt you saw. Such as shame," He sighed, "If only... if only we could run away together?"

Sparrow, head tilted to the side, merely, matter-of-factually: "Well, why don't you?"

Rose: "Sparrow!"

Sparrow turned his head to Rose, blank faced with a mere: "What?"

Monty: "Actually..." They looked up and saw realization burst into hope on his face, "I think that could wor! Yeah! Give a me a minute."

He turned away, to his beverage stall and searched, revealing he had paper in some compartment in the stall. He took a pen and scribbled in decent penmanship, all that Rose could judge from her distance. Which, had her thinking of her own writing - her journal. Thinking it now, when she makes her wish perhaps she could make a name for herself in writing, a novelist or maybe a journalist. Just them finally being in comfort doesn't mean they still shouldn't find ways to look out for themselves.

Maybe she could make it as a writer, all she need would be the right tutor or teacher, maybe teach herself from reading books in the castle library: she was... decent, at best, but there would be plenty of time for improvement, wouldn't there?

Monty, still writing, Rose looked up at the sky, the cogs of her mind turning:

' _The setting sun colored the clouds in orange and shades of purple,_

 _Turning the falling snow into peaches floating from its white trees above,_

 _Floating and floating,_

 _Pretty, yet cruel,_

 _Spreading heavy white and bringing the ever cold,_

 _Winter shows off for itself.'_

Rose swiped a snow flake from the air and felt it melt in her palm, which she opened to look at thereafter, staring.

Her face fell.

And a thought finished the poem-like piece:

 _How can something so sweet be so cold?_

Taking it all together - it wasn't half bad, given that most of her reading material was temporary or falling in tatters. Of course, once they get inside the castle she would surely have all the time in the world to sharpen these prose thoughts of her's. A smile pulled her lips thinking of all the stories she would discover, stories that she could read to Sparrow, stories that she could keep close to her heart.

"Alright!" The sound of Monty's voice shoved the pages of fantasies in Rose's mind aside.

Monty folded, slid in an envelope, and presented a letter to Sparrow, which he took in his hand, "Give this to Belinda - Not! Not, to her mother, okay? To Belinda. This could be the chance where we could finally be happy together."

Sparrow gave an affirmative nod and raced to the door of Belinda's house. When Rose followed behind, she saw - she never thought she would actually see this in this part of Bowerstone, this part of their life: a genuine smile was stretched across Sparrow's face, something she hadn't seen in a - well, something that seemed like forever if she were being honest, as far as she could remember. Those other smiles that she could remember in recent times, those times where he assured her that he was fine - they all seemed so fake now. The smiles they shared together were authentic, but his face was as bright as the sun.

Which, did make her happy, but a pang of loneliness shot through her: all this time, Sparrow seemed to be having fun - but what about her? Where was her fun?

Or rather: when will she have fun?

Well, once they get inside Castle Fairfax...

Well... but, there's, also the chance that...

Would she finally have her own fun? After all this time, all this struggling for her and Sparrow?

Arriving at the door, Rose shook her head as Sparrow knocked - now was not the time to be questioning now, not after everything they had done, had done to provoke Arfur into desperate violence.

The door opened.

"What do you want?"

That demanding, authoritative voice washed over Sparrow and Rose, freezing them to the spot.

Rose's mouth worked on its own: "Um... We're here to deliver a letter. Um... we need one gold for the postage."

The mold in Belinda's Mother's face broke away, relaxing: "Oh, well, why didn't you just say so while knocking on the door?" But she didn't give them time to answer, already gesturing, "C'mon on in."

Obliging, they entered the cramped living, dinning, kitchen room-mix and stopped before Belinda's Mother, who was at a cabinet.

"Now... where did I put that pot? It's here somewhere, I know it is. Where did I..."

Rose stared, staring at the back of Belinda's mother, her thoughts racing back to their own dead mother, trying to remember exactly how she acted before both her and Sparrow and when alone or with others. Never having thought that it was possible from the love of a Mother to her child to force her own flesh and blood into maid-labor. If it was the same with them when their mother was alive, how would they have fared? But, the more Rose thought of the possibility the more ridiculous the prospect became - just one of those curiosities.

There was a pull on her sleeve: Sparrow, pointing at the stairs nearby, then up at the second floor. Rose glanced back at Belinda's mother, still searching for the money pot, and shook her head, afraid that saying anything would advise Belinda's Mother that there was something amiss.

But Sparrow was stepping away.

Rose reached.

"Just stay right there," Belinda's Mother said, "I'll find it in a minute... Sod, where did I..."

The two froze hearing those words. But this granted Sparrow the opportunity to continue on, tip-toeing leaving Rose behind and swiping at the air for him to return to her side to no avail. On the steps, Sparrow was quick and took care in the pressure of his footing until he paused, pointing to Rose, then to his eyes, then to Belinda's mother before disappearing into the second floor.

There, the winter air seemed to seep through the walls and the foundation of the house and swirled and choked Rose, even so much as freezing her on the spot: wide-eyed and tense and hunched, frowning hard that her lips were white, eyes bouncing to and fro from Belinda's Mother to the top of the stairs. So tense, so suffocating, watching every movement of Belinda's Mother still painstakingly looking for that money pot, borderlining on panic so much that if Belinda's Mother finally found that gold coin she was actually freeze. And she finally let out a breath upon seeing Sparrow tip-toe with that sort of off finesse from before.

Sparrow eyed Beldina's Mother, keeping Rose in his peripherals, whom he grabbed upon reach distance and pulled her along until they made out and clear of the house, dashing and turning into the corner that led back to their shack.

Before Rose could speak, Sparrow shoved his hand into his pocket and was presented to her.

She stared blankly, mind processing...

Five...

Five...!

Five!

Rose's face was suddenly as bright as the sun, shrieking and snatching Sparrow close, crushing him in a strength that betrayed her state health - Sparrow grunting and seizing up.

Sparrow, wincing: "Rose Rose Rose!" His voice gutturally strained, tapping on his sister's back, "Can't breathe, can't breathe!"

Rose removed herself at once, her hands on her brother's shoulders, who saw the genuine glee that he never thought he would see again, "Sorry sorry, its just - we - ! Eeee-he-he!" She took Sparrow into another hug, not as hard this time, and tears slipped down her face.

Sparrow: "Rose, we should get the box before someone else does!"

Rose pulled herself away, suddenly straight and tall, "Right! C'mon, lil' Sparrow!"

Rose raced over to Murgo's Caravan while Sparrow ambled after, adding the final coin to the pile once pulling them out, taking a moment's glance at the drama playing from the balcony of Belinda's house - Belinda on the balcony, Monty and her Mother beside each other - that Rose seemed oblivious of.

Hearing it all, his face fell but forced it to be wiped clean upon catching up with Rose, barely noticing Murgo's greeting.

Where Rose: "We've come to buy the music box!"

Murgo chuckled: "Well! If yor' this happy and excited, suwly you have tha' gold t'buy it, wight?" And he held out his hand, in which Sparrow handed the gold, "Very well! Its yor's. Turn the handle thwee times, but, make sure its somewhere pwivate."

Murgo grinned, "Don't want some t'steal youw wish now, do ya'?"

Rose snatched the music box from where it sat: "Not in their life! C'mon, Sparrow, c'mon!"

They raced down the alley leading to their shack, Rose further on than Sparrow, spurred on by excitement and finality, finality of their life changing for the good. Sparrow passed that small clearing before the way to their shack but skidded to a stop when Rose stopped before a box in the clearing.

Sparrow, going and standing beside Rose: "Is something wrong?"

Rose: "No." She looked at Castle Fairfax, "I just want to look at the castle when I make my wish."

When Rose turned to Sparrow, he put on a smile.

Rose: "Is that okay?"

Sparrow: "Whatever you think's best."

Rose set the music box on the box-top, glanced at the castle of imagination, and took hold of the music box and took the handle. But when Rose turned away from Sparrow, his face fell, and he stared at his sister.

And his thoughts wandered:

Rose turned the handle once: "I wish..."

\- _I wish..._ -

Twice: "I wish..."

Thrice: "That..."

\- _I..._ -

The top of the music box opened, triangular pieces pointing to the sky, heralding the yellow light that glowed as the song of the music box played, its handle turning on its own as though by a mechanism. And as the song went on, the intensity of the light grew.

Brighter.

Brighter.

The song began to distort once the light turned red, the box spinning and spinning.

Sparks of light flashed out from the box.

It spun faster and faster, and in a blinding flash there was a whoosh and when their eyes settled on the box top the music box was gone.

All life seemed to quiet and stand to a halt.

Rose stared.

Sparrow stared.

Both blank.

Then the wind came alive with a gust that blew in their faces, brushing their hair, their clothes, their forms.

Brushing away hope.

Rose stepped to the box with stiff purpose, and delivered a hard kick with grit teeth. The box jumped, whined, and creaked as a crack veined its surface. Another and her foot crashed through. Another, and another.

One.

Two.

Three.

She stopped, whipping her head left and right for something, Sparrow catching the flared mask of pure anger - she spotted a wooden board off to the side that she grabbed and bashed with all her might, screaming the reserve of anger and sorrow and emotion out to a world that wouldn't bother to even lend an ear.

Bash bash bash, break break break.

She didn't notice the numbness and aching in her hands or the tears and watery vision, not even the pain in her foot until the fire within her finally died down, the box reduced to reduced to fire wood, or panels for the shack.

She looked up at Sparrow, a sombre blank face staring at her; him looking into the broken face of his sister; this was something Rose fought to hide from Sparrow in this whole ordeal.

Rose became downcast, looking down for a long moment, them staying that way for a moment while life was alive all around them.

Then finally, Rose, defeated so deep, mumbled: "...Le's go t'bed..."

She shuffled along, hunched, head hung. Sparrow walked along when she finally met him, him staying beside her until half way to their shack when he embraced her warmly and desperate to reach her.

"I love you."

A moment of silence, then: "Mhm..."

Sparrow kept hold of Rose as though that were keeping her from her breaking apart, and when they returned home they saw a familiar face waiting for them.

A familiar bark.

Rose: "...Whatever..."

The dog tilted its head.

Rose shuffled into the shack, kicked her journal to her bedroll, and set herself down on her side, clutching her journal to her chest. She closed her eyes, nearly into sleep, but opened them again when feeling a small arm wrap over her waist: Sparrow, he snuggled into Rose.

Rose didn't find any worth to argue.

She closed her eyes and slipped into empty sleep, waking at an interval of subjective seconds later from something shaking her. Opening her eyes, Sparrow wasn't beside her like before.

"Rose, c'mon, wake up, wake up!"

Rose dragged her body to turn: "...Ssparrow? What's..."

In the light of the moon, Rose could make out the delight in Sparrow face.

Sparrow: "C'mon, get up!" He pulled her up from her bedroll, adding, "Your wish came true!"

That sobered Rose at least to a coherent degree: "Wait... what?"

Sparrow pulled Rose to the steps of their shack where then Rose could see the bulky forms, the uniforms, and armed persons of four guards before their home at a comfortable distance.

Rose: "What?"

One of the guards saw Rose's confusion: "We were tasked by Lucien to escort you two to him."

Rose: "Derek?" Rose was still trying to pull herself out of sleep and wiped her eyes.

Derek: "That's right. I said I would help protect you kids, didn't think it would last this long."

Rose went to and scooped her journal from her bedroll, stuffed it in the inside pocket of her vest, and pulled Sparrow along to the guards' side, that brightness of hope from hours before reignited.

When hearing the dog whine and whimper: "Its okay, doggy. We're going to Lord Lucien's castle! We'll come back for you, I promise!"

Then to Derek: "C'mon c'mon, let's go to the castle!"

Derek held up his hands: "Okay, okay. Since when did you become your brother?"

The darkness of the night seemed to pave way for the moonlight that lit their paths to Castle Fairfax, a linear path that shadowed all others. The closer and closer they came to the Castle the more Rose found herself shaking, her breathing becoming ragged from excitement alone. So much that one of the guards outright asked if the cold was getting to her.

She merely smiled: "No. I'm just so happy!"

She glanced at Sparrow, who put on a smile for her, which fell the moment Rose looked away. Him staring at her, the oceans of concern in his eyes shone in the moonlight, an exclusive light show for anyone with the eye to notice.

In the castle grounds, the white blankets enchanted the grey masonry of deitic proportions. Towering, imposing, an architectural beauty set against the deep navy blue of the night sky accentuated by the graceful spotlight that was the moon. A breeze awakened the skeletal trees to wave hello, and the front door opened to opulence inside, the warmth their immediate greeter.

One of the guards turned to Derek: "Ah'rite, Derek, there's no need for the rest of us to go any further. This is the royal castle, after all. No doubt there are other parts of Bowerstone that need more attention."

Derek: "Don' worry, Ah'll 'andle 'em, they're good kids. So there shou'dn't be any worry."

The guard nodded and the guards made there way back into the dark, back into the cold winding ways of the night.

Derek turned to Sparrow and Rose: "Well, the rest of the way shou'd be easy, from 'ere. Jus' be sure to not touch anythin', right?"

But the two weren't listening: the decor, the richness of beautiful and antiqual design and furniture - they walked along, guided by their wonderment to see more of this lush wonderland. Derek caught up and set the rules straight, bringing the two relatively back to put their feet back on the ground.

They made their way through the castle, taking in as much as they could and process just how much all of this would have cost, the money into putting craft and time to making the beauty - all of that accumulated would have made them both meagerly rich in imagining the gold.

They entered the throne room, the eponymous item sitting far opposite to them on the other side of the room. The space, the wideness, the proportions, and the columns parallel practically gesturing to the throne, the intricacy of the golden designs on the purple carpets -

Rose: "Wow..."

Derek: "Yeah. Royalty gits awl of the beauty that makes 'em stand out as such, doesn't mean they didn't earn it though."

Derek glanced at the four doorways, altogether, two on each sides of the room: "Now... If I 'member right, Lucien's study is... this way."

At Derek's motioning, Rose and Sparrow followed. But, Sparrow couldn't tear his eyes away from the throne. There was something that seemed so attractive, something that seemed to pull him so much as wanting to go there that made him eye it until it was out of sight, but even then he kept glancing back, even stepping up the spiral stair case.

At the top of the stair case, standing at a pair of double doors was a man, who turned to them upon noticing. By his dress, Rose accounted him to be the butler, glancing down as Sparrow she could see the confusion, he had his head titled with an arched brow. If anything, the first question, Rose guessed, that Sparrow would ask, if he wanted to: why did this man's hair look so weird? Something she wouldn't be able to answer - who made it butler rule for them to wear a sort of... wig, she believed the word was.

Derek: "'Ello, Jeeves, these are the children that Lucien asked for. Don't worry, they're great kids, they wouldn't cause any trouble."

Jeeves turned to them with appraising eyes: "I see...and in high spirits, it seems." That, he said to Rose, who looked away with a frown, rubbing her neck.

Derek: "Don' worry kids, Jeeves has been the family's butla' fer years, he won't harm you." He nodded to Jeeves and stepped back down the stairs.

Jeeves nodded back, regardless: "Thank you for your regards. Now, hello children."

Rose smiled: "Hello, sir."

Jeeves turned to and opened the doors and a red carpet atop mahogany flooring and walls was revealed before them, "Follow me, please, I'll leave to that guard's word that you'll do so without any trouble."

Rose snatched Sparrow's hand into her's, which had Sparrow look up at her that Jeeves could describe as sombre.

Rose: "Of course we wouldn't!"

Jeeves paused a moment, then: "Very well," And gestured for them to follow.

As they walked:

Rose: "We look up at this castle everyday and think of how nice it is, we both do. But, its more beautiful than I imagined."

Jeeves: "Yes, quite wonderful, is it?"

Sparrow said nothing, only looking up at his sister, having deemed that this decor in this part of the castle was nothing less than what he had seen before. Only when the dark man dressed in blue with blue markings on his body walked into his peripherals did he take his eyes off of her. Rose saw, too: they weren't tattoos, per say - they glowed and seemed to exude a strange... power, the best word that could describe it. And by his posture, the gait - the way he walked - the way he gave them the barest glance - a wide air of power circled him, gusting the two that they stepped aside despite him being no where near them.

Jeeves: "Ah! Hello, Master Garth."

This Garth said nothing as he passed, staring ahead and seemingly stiff. This - well, it could have just been their imagination, but, for a moment, there on his arm, a small blue lightning arched and was gone.

Both Rose and Sparrow eyed him as they walked for a long moment before looking back forwards.

Jeeves: "Hmph. A man of few words."

The air still charged with a trace of Garth's presence, Rose, wanting to get her mind off of it: "Where is the grand dinning hall?"

"Oh, in the north wing. Lord Lucien hasn't been there since... well, since the tragic deaths of Lady Fairfax and little Amelia."

"Oh..." Rose winced, that air of power now topped with sorrow, and the room seemed to get hot, "I've heard. So awful."

"Yes... He, misses them terribly."

Sparrow pointed to a portrait, finally speaking: "Is that them?"

They all stopped and looked: a family portrait of the Fairfax family in better times, Lord and Lady Fairfax elegant, their daughter just the same; Lady Fairfax showed to be an equal match for Lucien in beauty - blue sapphires and flowing light orange down her back, a face that would be crafted from a master craftsmen, her thin lips pulled into a smile. Amelia Fairfax seemed to take more after her mother with some features taken from her father: inheriting blue eyes but her hair was blonde tinted red, either from her mother's side or Lucien's. By the portrait alone, Amelia seemed to be at the or around the age of Rose, at odds with the round, childish face, and her holding a teddy bear close - altogether implying at first glance her being younger.

Jeeves cleared his throat: "Yes... clearly in, better times."

Rose: "So, where does he eat?"

That had gotten them back on track, continuing on.

"Actually, he takes most of his meals in his study. He's in there, all hours, doing research."

Rose: "What does he research?"

"History, mostly, he keenly interested in antiquity of all sorts, but, is chiefly interested in things pertaining to the Old Kingdom."

Rose: "There was a trader in Old Town that said his stuff was from the Old Kingdom."

"Yes, yes, I believe Lord Lucien... heard about that."

A smile pulled Rose's lips: "We bought a piece of it, made a wish, a now we're here!"

They were now arriving at another double door, and Jeeves turned to them, "Well that's wonderful! Now, when you meet Lord Lucien be respectful at all times. Address him as 'M'Lord', speak only when spoken to,"

Rose: "Yes, sir."

Sparrow: "Okay."

"And do not, mention Lady Fairfax or Amelia."

With that, Jeeves opened the double door, motioning them in to a circular study whose two walls were filled with shelves of books; directly opposite them was a stained glass window which had a stone circle with a design that couldn't be made out from where they stood. But to the left of that circle stood the man of castle, hunched over a desk that had copious papers and open books, tracing a finger over a line of text on a paper before turning to Rose and Sparrow.

Lucien Fairfax.

Lucien: "Children! It has come to my attention that you had acquired some sort of box, " He stepped closed for their attention, "May I see it?"

Rose: "It vanished, M'Lord. We made a wish -"

Sparrow, matter-of-factually: "You mean you did."

Rose nudged her elbow into Sparrow's shoulder for him to shut up, which worked, giving Lucien a chuckle.

Rose: "We made a wish, it glowed... and it disappeared."

Lucien's eyes became inquisitive: "After you used it?"

Sparrow: "Yeah, the trader that we got it from said it was magic, so we wanted to use it," Having forgotten an essential thing, Rose elbowed him again, "Ow, what?"

But Lucien continued on regardless: "The box is of no interest to me, what's remarkable is that you were able to use it."

Sparrow, eyes narrowed: "Is it that hard to open a music box?"

Rose, snapping: "Sparrow!"

"What!?" Then it dawned on him, "Oh, M'lord."

Lucien merely chuckled at the spectacle happening before him, then: "What was your wish?"

Rose's lips curled into a pursed frown, and looked away, she was before the ruler of an entire country: "U-um..."

"Speak up, now," Lucien prompted, "What did you wish for?"

This gave Sparrow the opportunity to elbow back, which gave him a smack behind his head - and again Lucien chuckled.

"Um... T... To live in a castle... like, this one..."

"Perhaps that could be arranged," Sparrow's and Rose's head perked up, "I'm working to rebuild - " He paused, "Well, I'm working on something wonderful. For which, I need individuals with particular talents. Let's find out if you possess them."

Lucien gestured to the stone circle seen before, which, now at this distance, had a sort of 's' etched on its surface, "Would you kindly step on the circle?"

The two shared a concerned look.

Lucien, his palms together, "I promise, it won't hurt you."

Sparrow glanced at Lucien and his sister before staring at the circle a moment before doing as told, Rose following after and a blue light outlined the 's', blue motes of light floated up from the edges.

In them both glancing around at the circle, Rose with a hint of concern: "What's that?"

Sparrow: "Why's it glowing?"

Lucien approached the circle: "Nothing to worry about," And after a moment's time in observing, "It's true... your blood... you are Heroes!"

Rose's head snapped up, wide-eyed: "Heroes!? Like, the ones from the old stories?"

Sparrow, curious, furrowed brows and looking up: "Maybe that's why I was able to stop Rex so quick."

Rose: "Sparrow!" She turned back to Lucien, "I'm sorry, M'lord he - ...M'lord?"

Lucien stared, face blank, a moment before cautiously reaching into the light and yelped as the blue of the light turned red, the light around his wrist sparking before he snatched it back, holding his hand.

And a fearful, "What are you!?" Before his eyes widened and went to his desk, frantically throwing papers in his search for something, tossing books aside, cursing and snatching papers to skim through. All the while - the red light, Lucien's white-to-black change in demeanor - the siblings weren't aware they were inching closer to each other.

All they could hear: "No wait... there's... there was something here... something about..."

Rose found the courage to speak: "M-M'Lord? What's - what's going on. What's that light?"

Sparrow, taking Rose's hand, "Rose... what's happening?"

"Quiet!" The might of Lucien's voice turned the children into statues, and after having found what he needed: "You're heroes but you're not any of the three... one of you is the forth..."

He paused, propping himself up on the desk, staring absently at the book shelf before him, then, "This isn't what I wanted," And he pulled a pistol from his vest.

Instinct guided Sparrow's hand to pull his own gun.

A sound of thunder and Rose screamed, dropping down, covering her ears with her eyes squeezed shut, but the thud and the clattering of something popped them open.

She heard it...

The strained, ragged grunting and panting...

She dared.

She turned.

Her whole being went frigid and her whole cognition was torn from conscience.

A shriek exploded deep from within her, within the recesses of the shell she used to protect herself, her body trembling, so striking for Lucien to freeze. Its power not faltering even when bouncing off the walls, here and there, extending its life to seeming eternity.

"...R-Roozz.." Sparrow reached desperately with a bloodied palm, lifting his head to look before letting it drop and clutched at his stomach, seizing up "...Helb... Halb..."

His face scrunched with pain, red teeth grit, tears streaking down his face, legs shifting, a red pool growing beneath and a red spot quickly spreading across his stomach.

"Ruh... Ruh - ruh Rooozzzmmm - mmmm..." Blood was now dribbling from his mouth, his fearful eyes settled on his blank but wide-eyed sister watching this unfold, his swiped weakly, "Rho-hosesssss..." He gasped and sobs racked his body.

In that faint awareness, Rose uprooted herself, stiffly and rigidly to her brother's side like an automaton and dropped herself on her knees. There, Sparrow snatched her hand and squeezed it tight, the convulsive trembling of it bringing Rose back to life.

Rose: "I... I, don't..." Tears brimmed her eyes, "Dont... Don't go," She planted her hand atop Sparrow's bloodied hands and carefully applied pressure by absent instinct, jerking back by him sharply yelping, "I don't...!" Emotion shook her body, "Don't go...! Please! Please, don't go!"

His objective reached Lucien through a fog, he aimed his gun only for him to remember he needed to reload, he shoved his hands into his vest, fumbling for a bullet, which he dropped when pulling it out where it then rolled on the floor.

As Lucien gave chase, stepping and bending down and waving after it, hot tears rolled down Rose's face: "I don' - I don' - I don't, " She watched Sparrow grow paler and paler, "Don't go... please... don't go, don't leave me..." She could only apply pressure, painting her hands red.

"A'm scarb..." Sparrow's eyes were drooping, voice weakening, he coughed and blood sputtered out, "Ar'b, a'm scard... A'mmm-mmm s-scared... A'mb scared..."

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, only muttering: "Don't go... Don't go... Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go..."

The smell of blood filled her nostrils. She never saw how her parents died, but she always imagined, aided by nightmares that were branding. She remembered hiding away from Sparrow at times during their first days as orphans.

This...

This...

Rose: "...Sparrow...?"

The trembling of Sparrow's hand abruptly stopped and it slackened in her hand, head to the side, blood down from his lips, eyes still drooped with the last tears it will shed - those distant, dull eyes.

Rose: "Sparrow?"

Nothing.

"Sparrow?" She reached and shook his shoulder.

Nothing still.

She took his paled face in her wet and slick hands, smearing blood as she tried to shake life back into him: "Hey... Please... Don't leave me alone... Don't leave me alone... I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? Please, please, please, come back..."

Nothing.

Only the dull stare of those vacant, accusing eyes.

The clicking of a bullet sliding into a barrel brought Rose back to the reality of the situation.

Lucien, pointing cold death her way, hardened resolve in his eyes.

Rose found herself backing away, her bloodied hands up, face broken between panic and broken-sadness, cowering under the power of a god. She jumped finding she was against the glass stained window. She shrunk, shut her eyes, hands up in vainful defense, whimpering.

Lucien: "Nothing, must stand in my way..." He paused a moment, lips tightening to pursed lips, then, "I'm sorry."

He pulled the trigger.

Frigid coldness shot through her abdomen, heralding the burning, wet pain that surged through her body. She had folded, holding her stomach. She didn't know the bullet had broken the window until she tripped on her footing in her trying to balance from her recoiling and stumbled over the window.

Tumbling, everything was a dark blue, wind roaring in her ears, cold whipping at her body. There was a ringing in her ears and the world began to spin when she slammed, rolled off a roof and crumpled onto the cold street in a sprawled heap.

Only the moon, high and bright in the sky, saw what had happened, the whole town asleep, was the only one seeing the broken girl barely alive in the cold and the new flurries of snow. Her hollow, hoarse breathing the only sound in the shadowed streets of Bowerstone.

There, on the ground: "...bad...dream..." Rose managed to worm out, barely a mumble, "...bad dream..."

If this was a dream, the warm breath followed by the wet tongue licking her fingers was the teller that this whole thing - all the things that had happened was just a nightmare she was having, and she would wake up in the shack with Sparrow beside her in her bed roll.

A figure then shadowed the moon's light over her, and a familiar voice seemed to echo in her ears:

"Destiny is a winding road of thorns, young Rose."

All went black.

* * *

"Raaa-oose!"

It came to her hazy, blurry, a boy alone wandering in a pure white plain of nowhere - nothing, no grass, dirt, trees, the blue sky, clouds, not even animals or the wind.

Screaming with a broken voice that rippled with deep emotion, trembling with waterfalls of tears:

"Raaa-oose!" The boy cried, screeching now, "RAA-OOSE! Where, are, yaaa-oou!".

A wave of emotion rocked him, his face scrunched.

He gasped at repeated intervals.

His hands went to his eyes.

And his lips receded revealing clenched grit teeth, a moan struggling through before his mouth went agape and sobs wormed out, gradual then bursting from the flood gates.

"...Rose... Where - where are you...? Where did'jyou go-ho...?"

Alone. Crying. The boy cried out to nothing, his echo being the only listener.

The blur intensified, blots of darkness appeared and spread, engulfing everything back to black.

And all was silence again.

* * *

 **Something that was cooking for a while; chapters will be intermittent, no sort of schedule; and have been wondering of any sort of response or feedback, anything that catches you.**


	2. Chapter 2

She woke to the warmth of the blanket, the glow of the lantern hanging above, the comfort of an old, worn matress beneath her, and the stiffness of her broken body lapping waves of pain at her conscience. Even so, she stared with blank absence at the wooden ceiling equalling staring down at her.

A soft ruff called for her attention, but she didn't pay any, not even after another one - closer this time. Not even when feeling paws against her bandaged, splinted arm. Not even when those ruffs became worried whimpers.

There was a heavy clunk and the bulky door of the room swung open, bringing in a cold draft and flurries of heavy snow before a familiar figure shut it, holding a bowl, from which a handle of a spoon peeked out; she registered the aroma but didn't find any worth to react. And silence was free to be as loud as it wanted: Rose staring at the ceiling, the figure at Rose, and finally the silence drew Rose to settle her eyes on Green Robe.

Who finally: "Not going to say anything?"

Silence.

"Nothing?"

Nothing.

"Very well." Green Robe went and knelt beside Rose on the floor, "I am Theresa. We are outside Bowerstone in a Gypsy Camp near Bower Lake, I believe you've heard of it, no?"

Only staring still.

Theresa continued: "Your faithful friend found you broken in the streets of the city. Its been two days since I brought you here,"

Rose looked away, finally noticing the circular window through which she could see the snow not faltering and some clinging to the pane.

"I've requested that the Gypsys take you in their care, and as you can tell are very hospitable - this caravan, for example. They were surprised to see that you still lived in the condition that you were, more so finding how quickly you healed with so few potions. But, the healer suggested that you heal naturally with the more severe injuries so as to not deform any bones and such in potion-healing. And I agree, if you seek revenge -"

Rose's eyes were back to her.

"A yes, I presume. Rest. Heal. In time, I will help you," Theresa took the spoon from the bowl and presented it to her, "For now, eat."

Rose stared at the spoon - the stew mixed with the broth from the beef, the mouth-watering aroma seemingly in the back of her throat and dancing on the back-end of her taste-buds. Floating on the surface were bits of green onion and small bits of carrot. Rose pouted, pressing her lips together. Then, slowly opened her mouth, allowing Theresa to slip the spoon in and for deliciousness to pool her mouth.

Rose drank the stew, but slowly ate the beef and carrots, feeling their texture, taking in their taste, the consistency; each chew exploded strong with flavor, by the lack of good food. Slower, slower, and slower until she was forced to stop, to grit her teeth and squeeze her eyes shut, from the tears and the swelling emotion that twisted her face. The moan that wormed through her teeth heralded the sobs thereafter. Her body trembled, jerking as she took sobbing gasps.

Theresa set the bowl and spoon down, reached, and parted the hair in Rose's face aside. That seemed to put Rose back into a degree of control of her emotions: her face hardened and her eyes were bonfires whose heat were only able to lick the air of the robed killer that had saved and was now feeding her, evident by Theresa's body stoicity and feeling nothing radiating from the darkness of her hood.

But her glare didn't hold the power Rose thought it had: "I can understand your hate. But there is nothing you can do about it now. Blame me as much as you want - you family is dead, and never coming back. If anything, use that anger and forge the mentality you desire when you face Lucien."

Reason brought Rose to that same conclusion, but, still, she stared - for moments. Then, turned away. The mold of rock and steel that took the form of her dormant anger from the years since her parent's death suddenly broke away, revealing the broken child she had been working to hide from the world, and the tears began to flow again, steady now, the brunt of the crashing waves calmed.

The smell of the stew was before her again, the spoon protruding from her peripheral. In glancing at the spoon, her eyes skipped over to Theresa. That empty darkness still surrounding her face, it was opaque, there was nothing she could read from it. The cold yawning in from the outside, peeking in - pressing its face against the window, the small space of this caravan, despite the dog and Theresa, Rose huddled on an isle of conscience in a lapping sea of loneliness.

Powerless, begrudgingly, Rose ate another spoonful of stew.

Another.

Another.

And another.

And another.

Mechanical, almost impulsive - Rose let herself go, no longer caring for the moment, and found the amount of stew cupped in the spoon becoming smaller and smaller, then presented the beef and carrots that had sunk to the bottom of the bowl.

There was fulfillment, a sense of satisfaction.

But: "...I hate this," Rose mumbled, looking absently at her broken body, "Sparrow should'a eaten that... an'... and now... He's... he's... All dat time ah'made t'protect 'im... All dat I indur'd t'keep 'im... Ah' - I - I shud've..."

"Lament all you want, Rose." Theresa said, wiping Rose's tears, "The fact that you're here, and Sparrow isn't, will never go away."

Rose moved her right arm but the stiffness and weight reminded her that it was practically bandaged into a sort of cast, resorting to biting instead - biting air, Theresa swift in her reflexes. From Rose's perspective, by her conclusion in hindsight, the slightest initial movement of her jerking her head seemed to gave Theresa the indication, if possible, even before that.

Despite the tears tracing down her face, the fire blazed high again in Rose's eyes, "I'm not stupid - _you're_ the reason that fact's real!"

"And here's another fact: I can't predict the future. All I did was nudge you into a direction, just like everything in life. Where that direction leads you is something that is either in or out of your power. For you, there are many others who have suffered worse fates."

"How would you know - how do you _see_ out of that hood?!"

"By living on the streets," Theresa's tone hinted on anger, heavy and imposing, "you should know, Rose. There's more to life than just seeing."

The fury shrank away and the child was re-placed, and was quiet a moment before: "...Whatever..." Then a pout curved Rose's lips, "...Um... I, uh... I know that was rude, but, um... Can - Can you..."

"Yes?"

"I need... help..."

"With what?"

Rose flushed: "I need t'... y'know... I need t'... go..."

"Ah. Of course."

Moments later, having finished in helping Rose relieve herself, Theresa helped Rose back into her bed, pulling the wool, worn blanket over her.

Theresa: "I won't always be here to help you, one of the gypsys will check on you regularly, for I have something that requires my attention. Rest. If things go well, I will be here by morning."

Just as Theresa turned away, Rose: "Wait."

Theresa stopped.

"Can you, um... Will... Can - " Rose frowned with pursed lips, feeling her face burn, unable to look at Theresa, "Um... This - this is... ridiculous, but, uh, before you go... you seem to know a lot, about the world I mean, and, so, um, ju-judging by your words. So, um, can... can you, tell me, a story, before you go?"

A moment of silence.

Rose could feel Theresa's eyes, invisible by the darkness clouding it, trained on her.

"...Very well." Her tone, Rose was able to hear the easiness in Theresa's tone, even if there seemed just a bit of it.

Theresa settled herself beside Rose's mattress again, pausing, then: "Once upon a time... There was a young girl who lived in a small village with her Mother, her Father, and her little brother, whom she loved very much. But the brother was such a lazy cow that he had forgotten to get a present for her birthday, like last year, but she had an uncertain inkling that it would be chocolates. She went out on the fields, passing time for her brother to arrive..."

Moments passed...

"...She was alone. Fire ravaged for as far as she could see. Her beloved home burned. Bodies littered the paths and dirt, gruesomely, that she wandered in shocked silence. Wandered absently, aimless, her brother's whereabouts tearing at her conscience. She stumbled upon her father, and... broke down, and her cries is what a passing Hero -"

Theresa stopped, head perking up catching the slightest movement of Rose's slumping head, her eyes closed and her breathing even and soft. Theresa stared a moment at frail Rose, then brushed aside the strands that had fallen over her face. The bandages, the splints, the tears and the emotions - Rose sleeping: Theresa was looking at the molded sculpture of broken innocence.

Theresa took a gentle deep breath, and stood but stopped before she even moved by the jerking of Rose's body, the twitching of her face. Her breathing was pacing, panting.

"...S'barrow...?" She mumbled, "...Mm'um... Dad... Where - where... Where did'jyou go...?"

The dog whined, tailed wagging nervously, glancing at Rose and Theresa, who gave a calming rub to its back.

Theresa's hooded head dipped before going back up for Rose, and dared: "Is there something wrong?" Her voice soft, gentle.

"M'family's gone... Ah'dun'no wer'dey are... M'scared... I'don' wanna be alone..."

Theresa looked at Rose's hand, and slipped her hand into Rose's, "But I'm here. How about we look for them together?"

"...Really...?"

"Yes. Really. But, unfortunately, I won't always be there to guide you."

Rose's face formed the slightest wince, "...Mmm..."

"Don't worry. Even when I'm not with you, I'm always watching over you."

"...Bra'miss...?"

Theresa wrapped her pinky over Rose's, and saying confidently, "Promise."

Rose said no more, her body calm, relaxed. Her lax face and the soft heaving of her chest showing of peaceful sleep. But Theresa kept her pinky locked awhile longer, then carefully removed herself, pet the dog, went to the door and glanced back at Rose, and walked back out into the cold world.

"Hey, Rose, how old are you"?

* * *

"Uh... thirteen, fourteen?"

"Then why're you holding that axe? It's too cold and the snow is still here, yer not old enough to hold that - yer still healing! Mum said that it would take a couple'a months fer you be okay to walk or run or hold something heavy like that axe!"

"...Well, I feel fine. Even though it's been only two n'a half weeks."

"I know! Y'look fine! All yer splints and casts and bandages n' stuff are gone! The Seeress said that you feel from a 'great height', and from what I saw that was true! Yer broken bones, parts of yer body bending the wrong way, de'... cuts n' stuff - you even had that stab wound from that branch you fell on!"

Rose's hand went to her stomach and rubbed her thumb, feeling the splotched scar through the fabric of her shirt. She didn't know how, but Theresa, if their conversation from before in her caravan said anything, seemed to have a way with her words if she weaved the details of a bullet wound into a stab wound. What she, herself had been told: she had tripped off a high cliff and slammed onto a branch that had a sharp broken existing branch while escaping from bandits, her brother being the unlucky one slain.

Rose: "Yeah..." Slowly her eyes narrowed and her lips slowly pushed themselves into a pursed frown: sleeping, in dreams, nightmaric flashes of that night always somehow manage to slip in for the last couple of days. The developing bags under her eyes told everyone around her how she was dealing with the ordeal.

"Look. At least rest fer a while, so I don't have to look like my Mom already when I'm still ten, there's a saying that worrying is bad for yer skin 'er whatever."

Rose turned her head, eyes drooping: "Do you believe everything you're told, Gretta?"

Gretta swung her fists down, "Jus' put d'axe down!"

"Fine!Fine!" Rose replaced the axe where it was and stepped away, staring at it.

Gretta sighed, relieved, then, looking at Rose, "I'm gonna haft'a watch you, don't I?"

Rose, without turning away, "Funny how you sound like a mom, already."

"Healed or not, yer pushing yourself when you should be resting - someone has t'watch you!"

Finally turning, Rose, her brows furrowing, "Look, Sparrow -" She stopped, paused, a momentary heavy silence slipping in then out, "Gretta..." She looked away, rubbing her neck,"I'm ..." Another pause, "Whatever... Do whatever you want."

"Then it looks like I'm following you, today."

Rose frowned; in all honesty there wasn't much to do with this weather. Yes, the snow had stopped, but most of the camp was still shoveling as much snow as they could to make the ways more accessible before the weather decided to paint the whole land white again. Granted, there were some books she was given when she was crippled those first few starting days in the camp weeks ago, but, she was already losing interest in the whole activity altogether, already growing bored of the books that were waiting in line just by looking at them. Perhaps there would be one book, that she didn't have, that would bring her interest back, but with the weather, the rate of which the traveling gypsy merchants going in and out of the camp dwindled.

There was getting to meet the other gypsys in the camp.

But, Rose didn't find any worth or point in doing so, and she wasn't feeling up to it: though it had been weeks ago, mourning knew how to welcome itself in the human consciousness, take comfort and settle itself in. It was by proximity to the camp's healer that she and Gretta had met each other.

Going outside the camp to play near the frozen lake was also a thing to consider, but, being outside the walls of the camp was deemed unsafe in general by the rise of bandit sightings in the area. There was a chance that there wasn't any bandits in the area at that this time, but the chance of there are being bandits was off-putting - better safe than sorry. And Rose didn't want to try her hand in trying to survive death a second time.

A frigid wind blew and Rose shuddered and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and clutched her cloak closed, slightly hunching. Snow no longer glided down from the grey sky but that didn't stop the biting wind.

"...Rose..." Rose turned to Gretta, her dark hair a curtain around her head with strands partially obscuring her tan face, which she didn't seem to mind, fidgeting and clutching the fur pelt she was using in use of a cloak closed, "Can we go inside?"

Rose took a glance around the camp: again, people were about with spades to shovel away the snow for the paths around the camp and the fronts of the caravans; someone had gotten a fire going and gypsys were crowding around there, those who didn't want to stay cramped inside their caravans, sitting around the growing fire from the stocked firewood, chatting heartily with some laughter about; the fireplace, for now, it seemed, was kept to a certain size and height, by the firewood, for the three pots hanging over it from a made spit, the gypsys having carefully and specifically gotten handfuls of the clean snow to boil to drink and keep worm, if they didn't add anything to make stew or other hot beverages. By a wafting aroma, one of the pots seemed to be brewing a stew.

Rose pointed to the camp fire, saying to Gretta: "You don't want anything to eat?"

Gretta looked a moment at the campfire, then turned back to Rose with a pursed frown, "Well... maybe..."

It was settled: Rose passed Gretta, calling and gesturing for her to follow: despite not having known each other for very long, Rose was able to learn that Gretta would look sheepish despite her seemingly indecisive words with particular things, which would mean she would want something or partake in something. Though Rose didn't really show it, she enjoyed Gretta acting in such a way, it was something to joke and tease about. Despite, it reminding her about Sparrow in Gretta's innocence. Which, in turn, Gretta know just enough about Rose by observation to recognize certain patterns in her face:

Gretta, upon catching up to Rose: "Sad again?"

"No."

"...Want a hug, or something?"

Rose widened the distance between her and Gretta a bit, but Gretta closed in, slipping her tiny hand into Rose's, feeling it jump: "...Um, don't be sad. Okay?"

Rose remembered the same tone of voice from a boy:

...I love you...

Rose didn't say anything, but didn't remove her hand either.

Upon approaching the camp fire, a familiar face spotted them and approached them in turn: "Feelin' okay, Rose? En'y of yer injuries still hurting or need t'be addressed?"

Rose: "I'm fine, Tanya. Really." She caught a few curious glances from the others at the camp fire, kids and some of the adults, they looked away when Rose turned her eyes on them but some of those eyes settled back on her when she stopped.

"An' I believe that," Tanya said, "But someone practically havin' a full recov'ry after they broke their body in two weeks - its unheard of! Even now a'm still tryin' t'understand what I had seen takin' care of you. Yer'a tough girl, y'know that?"

Rose looked away, eyes going bottom right: "Maybe..."

"Not everyone k'in survive a height you fell. Seein' how you healed under' my supervision, I k'in say yer'a tuff girl."

Rose: "Thanks. I guess..."

Tanya smiled, her hand to Rose's shoulder, guiding her and, by them still holding hands, Gretta, to the campfire, "You two pro'bly havn' eaten yet, haven't'chu? Is the stew done yet?"

A man at the camp fire was stirring a wooden spoon in one of the pots, pecking in with his hand spices and such, it appeared it be, "Just 'a fffew stiirs aaan' - there!" And he picked one of the bowls that had been beside his feet and poured two ladle scoops in, which he then gave to Tanya, "'Ere, one for the Rose, I'm assuming," And as said, Tanya giving the bowl to Rose, he poured another bowl, "And this for Gre'tta."

Taking a sip with the spoon soon after given, a slight smile pulled Rose's lips. Rose didn't get tired of the taste, this being the most exquisite stew she had tasted despite being so simple of a recipe, this also being the same exact stew when she first awoke in the gypsy camp, in, now, her caravan, those painful weeks ago. But, not without a pang of regret: food of this kind tasted better in the company of family, she was aware of this due to the season and had expected such instances to occur during it, that didn't mean she was always prepared for it.

One can smile for anything, but it was only measured by the rest of facial context: Rose felt a small pull on her cloak. Turning, Rose caught a glimpse of an all too familiar boy in patchwork clothing in her peripherals, but, blinking, it was only Gretta, those small multi-colored jewels of hazel shining with concern as she was chewing. Her eyes drooped, the smile fading, glanced at Tanya, the cook, and the rest before going off towards her caravan.

Gretta: "Waim! Hul' on -" She stuffed another scoop of stew in her mouth, swallowed and followed: "Waffer'me!I godda wath'you!"

A kid at the camp fire: "What's the matter with her?"

The Cook: "She's still in pain."

The same kid: "What d'you mean? She's healed, right?"

Tanya didn't say anything, eying Rose and Gretta as they went to Rose's caravan with her arms folded.

The Cook: "Y'll understand someday that there are just some wounds that never heal completely."

The kid tilted their head: "But, wouldn't they still be in bandages or bleeding if that happened?"

The Cook chuckled at the kid's child innocence, picking another bowl of stew, "You'll understand later in life." With a grunt, he pushed at his thighs off his seat, bowl in hand, and to Tanya, whom he presented the bowl, "Here, a reward, per say, for your work last night."

Tanya: "Thank you,"

In Tanya taking a sip, the Cook: "She is your daughter - that sense of duty."

"...I guess she is."

"You don't sound too happy."

"Don't worry, we have enough food this winter, people are watching above the gate - we're in no imminent danger."

"I know, but -"

"Relax. People are looking to you to heal us when the time comes. And you patients are still in need of you."

Tanya took a deep breath: "I know..."

Upon approaching Rose's caravan, the heavy door jerked, thudded and swung open, paving the way for a familiar face trotting to them.

Gretta: "Arfer!"

Rose's head snapped to Gretta, eyes wide, flashing with the embers of anger until realizing she was still eating with a full mouth, then frowned at herself, sipping her stew with burning cheeks, pouting as she savored the taste in her mouth as a distraction from what she had done. As much as it was nearly phonetically the same as Arfer's name, the dog's name was actually Arthur, named on a whim and at random, the name coming to her on a sudden spur of thought. From there it just stuck - Arthur was Arthur. It was decided. Of course, however, there were incidents such as this by the slur of the tongue or a mumble that had 'Arthur' sound like 'Arfer'. Inevitable, but rose dealt with it.

Arthur padded his way through the damp dirt path, panting, tongue lolling, and excitement polished his black eyes. Slowing nearing, and now before Rose and Gretta, Arthur spun around, seemingly chasing his tail, before sitting and looking expectantly at his friends before him. But upon, then, catching a certain scent coming from them, Arthur crept close to Gretta, craning his head to her bowl, sniffing that delicious aroma wherein his paw reached up for the bowl that was turned away before he could do so.

Rose: "Arthur!"

But, Gretta, glancing back towards the campfire, spotting Tanya busy, sitting beside the others at the campfire, warming up, "Okay okay okay, okay okay okay," She said, feeling a paw on her thigh, "Hold on, wait a min', okay?" And proceeded to shovel her mouth of as much stew as she could hold in her mouth, carrots and beef included, puffing her cheeks, carefully drinking the stew.

Rose: "Is your's not hot anymore?"

Gretta turned her head, shaking her eyes as some tears slipped down her face, a faint: "...Mm-mm."

Rose: "Heh..." It was humorous enough to warrant some sort of laugh.

Having gotten her fill, Gretta crouched down and held her bowl for Arthur. who went for it, slurping the stew, some of it splashing from his tongue, and, tasting it, biting for the beef floating about, too taken by the flavor to notice he was taking in the carrots, too.

Rose arched her brow at Gretta, who only put a finger to her lips, glancing back at Tanya - she was still in the clear.

Rose rolled her eyes and continued on to her caravan, Gretta going after despite Arthur pawing at the bowl for her to stop, some of the stew spilling in the process, but that only encouraged him to be the third follower.

Going up the steps to the front door of her caravan, Rose stamped her feet in getting rid of the snow clinging to her fur boots and entered her caravan, cool from the cold air entering the ajar door when Arthur went out. It was no campfire, but Rose went to the opposite end of the caravan and there was a metallic squealing when Rose turned the small knob of a oil lantern: small space, small area, Rose gave the lantern another purpose as an crude heater of sorts. Of course, being its size and meaning to be a light source, it would take a while for the inside to heat up to comfortable temperature.

Gretta went to the side of Rose's caravan, set her bowl down for Arthur to finish, raced around the corner, up the steps, and through Rose's door.

Who: "Hey hey! Get the snow off your shoes!"

Jumping at the Rose sharp and loud shout, Gretta went back out on the steps and stomped her feet, glancing at the sides and even checking the bottoms of her soles to be sure there wasn't any snow left. Which, seeing she didn't see any other patches of it, Gretta went back inside and closed the door behind her.

And finally took in the inside of Rose's caravan: by decor, it didn't look any different to any other caravan in the camp, but the difference being the growing neat row of books on the right wall - if looking from the door in - which were only three books high and three across - small, but a premonition into the future, seeing how other gypsy traders come in and out of the camp all the time through out the year.

Rose, herself, was seated on her mattress balancing the bowl on her lap and a book open in her hands, eyes gliding left and right, going down, reading the pages. Soon the page was flipped, and it was evident by the placement of the pages that she had already reached the middle of the book, remembering that these books were given to her during her crippled days.

Gretta stood, staring at Rose passing her time, flipping page after page, slurp after slurp of her stew, now chewing the beef from the bottom of the bowl, before finally, Rose: "Aren't you going t'sit?"

Her feet having been nagging at her to do so, and because she was finally given permission, feeling she had been intruding somehow, Gretta obliged and sat down across from Rose, bringing her knees to her chest, staring and staring at Rose, in fact, almost absently at the spine of the book she was reading. If Rose minded, she didn't say anything, but did give an occasional glance at Gretta in turning pages. And, as such, they were both having a very loud, awkward, creepy silent conversation about each other, the crisp flipping of the pages accentuating the obscenity of their mannerisms in this situation.

Finally, forcing it out, Gretta: "So, uh... how, um... how many books, have you, read?"

Rose's eyes looked up from the pages, staring at Gretta.

She didn't need to speak to say what was on her mind: Can't you count?

Gretta looked to the row of books and counted: nine in all, but, in taking this second sort of glance, Gretta saw there were four of them that was stacked upside side down while the rest was properly done.

Gretta: "Sooo...four?" And looked back to Rose for confirmation.

Rose didn't say or do anything other than read and finish the last remains of her stew wherein she set the bowl and spoon to the side, now fully concentrated her on book.

Another moment where silence pardoned itself through the two of them, broken by the whistling through the tiny crevices of the caravan from a strong wind that blew over the land. And Gretta jumped at the thud at the door, scratching following after but it all became clear hearing the whimpering.

Rose, finally: "Led'im in, will'ya?"

Gretta stood and went and, sucking in air and holding her breath, tugged on the handle of the heavy door until it gave, popping, catching Gretta off balance and tumbled onto her back. But, Arthur was finally inside and attended Gretta at once seeing her on the floor, wincing, and she assured that she was fine by her petting him.

Rose opened her mouth to speak but returned to reading upon seeing Gretta return to the door to close it, grunting and pushing with all of her might so as to slam it shut. There, inside the warm room, Arthur went to Rose's side, lying down, and Rose pet him in welcome; Gretta, herself, returning to the same spot she had been before.

Another lonesome staring contest before Gretta forced out: "Um... What, stories do you, like?"

Rose actually took the time to pause, looking up in thought a moment, before she shrugged: "I dunno."

Gretta looked back to the book stacks and saw the pattern: all, or at least most, of the the titles Rose had were of hero tales and of mythical monsters, at least from what she could assume; only a few modern books, however. Peering to confirm the title of the book Rose was reading: Recorded Tales and Feats of Briar Rose. She took a second glance at the stack, then back to the book in-reading: that would definitely explain the disappointing book numbers, considering the collection already gathered here in camp for stock in the camp store - most of the books Rose had were considerably worn but still intact and pages yellowed, some, respectively, already going brown, a few looking as fragile as the elderly - one drop or wrong turn of the page could break the book, but appearances can be deceiving.

Already feeling a sense of her pushing a boundary of sorts, Gretta dared: "Um... Rose? Why do you have books about Heroes?"

Rose lifted her book just slightly enough so that Gretta would be out of peripheral view, and, thus, altogether.

And, Gretta was at a loss: clearly, Rose was greatly affected by the death of her brother, the whole ordeal leading up to that - all of it, Gretta assumed. But, if she herself is unable to help a peer like Rose, even a little, how was she supposed to take up the mantle of her mother in the future? Granted, her time to be her mother's daughter wouldn't be that near in the future but it was something to consider when she still had the time to think of such things when not bound by responsibilities.

She got up and stood before Rose: "Um, Rose? Is it okay if I sit beside you?"

Moving her book, and to Gretta, Rose's eyes peered over the top of her book for a moment's glance like two light houses whose intense beams were zeroed on her before they were shadowed behind her book, saying nothing still.

Back to relative silence, whimpering Arthur pawing at Rose's lap for her to consider the offer but all she did was absently pet him.

Gretta stared at Rose, still nervously standing, fidgeting slightly. She then forced herself, finally, to stiffly go to Rose's vacant side and set herself down, scooted herself as close as she thought comfortable for Rose. She leaned to the side a bit to peek at Rose's book, being able only to comprehend that there were words on the old paper before Rose turned enough inward, towards Gretta. Gretta stopped at once, and frowned, downcast, feelings of failure washing over her.

She stayed that way a moment before she looked to Arthur, seeing him eying her, she could feel, by suggestion and probability, that Arthur wanted her to do something but she couldn't read anything from the dog. But, desperate, Gretta wrapped her arms around Rose, who tensed at once at the first touching sensation, left hand clawing.

Rose looked down at Gretta, who looked up at her, those brown twinkling jewels from the lantern overhead, saying: "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Spar - I -" Rose snorted, leaving it at that, adding: "Do whatever you want..."

Gretta: "But... I wanna help you. And, yer not letting me."

Rose, didn't say anything.

And Gretta said no more.

Moments passed - flip, flip, flip of the brown pages; time passed, and the nudge against her arm interrupted Rose's reading. Looking: Gretta had dozed off and slumped onto Rose's left side. Rose's hand jerked towards Gretta, palm open, but, only moved so much to look as a involuntary twitch similar to before.

She stared a moment, taking in the lax and slumped form of Gretta, reminding her of a boy - a boy who would fall asleep the same way whenever they sat beside each other in her telling stories. Actually, in fact, if Sparrow had been a girl, Rose wondered if he would look just like Gretta, some, even the hintest of, features bearing resemblance was uncanny but likely coincidence. From what she remembered of Father, he wasn't that kind of person, that kind of lecherous womanizer, a player of a certain type of hot-potato. Even if he was...

Actually, she couldn't even imagine it.

She returned to her business, to her book, flipping page after page when Arthur's head shot up from the ground, ears perked.

Rose: "What's wrong, boy?"

It was all she had time to say before the tremorous boom shuddered her whole world. Gretta jerked awake, glancing about: "Rose? Rose, Rose, what's happening?" The edge and fear in her voice was clear.

Either by her haunting pain or having brushed with death before, Rose was calm, questioning the same thing, setting her book down and going to her door when the coming roars and battle cries became a crescendo, the bangs of gunfire and the cries of the fallen.

In the fast panic growing outside, a cry named the madness: "Bandits!"

"Mom!" Gretta sprang to her feet, and would have opened the door if Rose didn't catch her.

"Wait!" Rose said, "Right now, we're more safer in here!"

Gretta struggled, wrestled to get herself free in vain from Rose's unprecedented tight clutches: "But Mom's out there! Mom!"

There was the sound of distinctive return fire from a retaliation from either the gypsys or the guards that do their rounds here from this part of Bowerstone. Either way, gunfire and clashing swords had grown prominent compared to just moments ago. Thinking it now, it was amazing considering that this caravan was as close to the wall of the camp as some other caravans, and the hope of being ignored was destroyed when Rose's world exploded. The front of the caravan blown away from the blast, but the door, resilient, was chucked from its hinges, slamming more into Rose than Gretta, being thrashed down to the floor by the inertia, yelping and writhing clutching her side, feet kicking. Rose was flung to the opposite end of the caravan with the door, yelping in crashing into the wall with the door being a sucker punch to her upper body then sprawling onto the floor. In which, a sharp pain burst from her shoulder with an intense heat blossoming there and down her shoulder and what she could sense being her left side.

Eyes heavy and drooping, body fatigued by the onset of pain, with the whole world sounding distant and faded, going into gradual silence, her whole world became an intense indiscernable grey, vertigo lapping at her conscience. Her groggy moan was the only thing that told the world she was still alive. Conscience becoming foggy and all thoughts shattered. Addled, Rose could make out barking and pain cries of a man and the calling of a few others. She could only vaguely comprehend why a young voice would be desperately calling her name before everything went black.

* * *

There it was again...

That space. That endless void of white.

The boy who had been crying before was now sitting, legs out and hunching with his head dipping down. There was a quality of absence about him, his stare into that white nothingness with those dull eyes and his lack of any words, not even blinking.

Then his lips quivered, pressing together to purse, and he shuddered as tears welled and fell down his face. His tolerance was short, and he shut his eyes and bit his lip, stifling a moan enough only for it to be hoarse.

And, he didn't know why he was crying.

Everything began to blur, then the white was being edged off by black blots becoming larger and larger, swallowing everything until all was black again.

* * *

Rose jumped awake with a gasp, seeing her blurry vision and feeling the tear streaks down her face seconded by the pain in her shoulder and the burning that reached down to her forearm, barely reaching her wrist but could feel heat in parts of her hand.

"Rose!" Rose recognized the voice.

She turned her head and her eyes widened: "...Tanya...Your face...!"

Tanya touched the bandage patch taking up almost the whole of the left side of her face, a smile crossing her face: "It's not as bad as it looks," She said that yet she winced, but continued: "I, was, more, concerned about you: you had, glass in your shoulder that was, also burned by the oil from your lantern, it slid down, your arm. I'm sure you can feel it."

She did, could feel the pain pinching her consciousness. Though her body was sluggish, she touched the bandages.

Tanya: "I told you you were'a tough, girl - from what we can tell an explosion threw, the door of your caravan at you, you should be wrapped in, bandages and splints and yet all you had was the glass and the burns."

Saying that, Tanya's face fell: "Although, even though we'ave potions, not much left to spare now, your arm is sure t'scar, even fer you. Your side, might fare a bit better, if you're, lucky, it'll heal just fine."

Rose grunted, sitting up (during this realizing she was dressed in a vested shirt), aided by Tanya but stopped altogether in Rose putting her hand to her mouth.

Tanya: "You okay?"

"Feel like -"

"Nausea?"

Rose gave a small nod so as to not, by chance, vomit.

"Not surprised. Theresa said you would likely have a concussion."

"Theresa's here?"

"Yes. She's dealing with other patients right now, and she was the one who got the guards. And, yes, the camp is doing fine. We were able to drive the bandits,back before the did any bad damage -"

"Arthur?" Rose looked past Tanya, having spotted fur in her peripherals, and saw the splints and the red-spotted bandage wrapping over his torso - him unconscious on his side.

"Don't worry. He's doing fine, but he hasn't woken up yet. Rose?"

Rose went dead silent, remembering: "Where's Gretta?"

Tanya took her turn of silence, looking away, and Rose spotted the painful, sombre look.

Rose: "Gret-ta," She enunciated, "where is she?"

"She - uh... Um. We - we-were, able to, drive the bandits back, but, not before they... took some people..."

It became clear, remembering that young voice before she blacked out:

 _Rose! Rose! Help! Heeelp!_

Rose: "Have the guards - are they investigating?"

"As, far as we, know..."

Thick tension flooded the air, and Rose: "...You don't sound too confident."

Reading people by their faces - that was an essential credential she had easily picked up during those days on the streets, and, remembering Arfur, was glad to have learned such a skill early on. And she could see it: the restraint on Tanya's face even if the patch covered most of it; the barest twitch she noticed on her face; how she kept glancing away - a predominant, an obvious notion.

"Ah, um..." Her voice was wavering and could hear the coming break, "Ah - Ah - jus,'" She turned away, going for the door of this caravan, and it was clear: "Jis' res'fer nao!"

Rose spotted them, the tears. Even here, behind the heavy door and the walls of the caravan she could faintly hear Tanya sobbing outside. And not being the in the condition to move, she couldn't - well, either way, whether she could cover her ears or not, it didn't take away the fact of the likely fate of Gretta, or the others. But, the more she listened, the more a grimace came onto her face, the more her mind receded to an earlier point in time, and how she seemed more alive then, having the mind to take on the world if she willed it, if having a healthy body at that time.

Grunting as she slowly eased herself back onto her back, she sighed, and stared at the ceiling.

A moment passed.

She looked at her bandaged arm, turning her hand to seeing the bandaged parts of her palm and the individual wrapped fingers - four, including her thumb.

She eyed the ceiling again.

And sighed again.

Time passed. Tanya had calmed and gave her the run down of what occurred since yesterday, it turned out: when any and all fires had been put out, when the damaged had been assessed, the injured was rounded up and taken into Tanya's hands, her injuries done first, addressed by Theresa. Potions were handed out, sparing sips encouraged and bandages sparsely used for the more critical (had enough left over for Rose's wounds to be completely addressed) with the aid of Theresa. Some merchandise and food was stolen, and, as aforementioned, people were taken as well. Guards went to follow the bandits' tracks, as also said before, but they haven't returned yet, but hopes aren't high.

And now...

People...

"Are you just gonna let them off the hook?" Rose asked.

Tanya didn't say anything, having brought in lunch, but: "Just rest, Rose. Yer not going t'help anyone or yourself if you don't heal." And left.

It was her only conclusion, maybe even jumping the gun a bit, but: this has happened before. Maybe not directly before, likely the traveling gypsys. The others gradually taking notice of their lacking presence, becoming tangible, more so for some, like Tanya, assumably. None are seen again, and talk and talk and talk spreads and grows nervousness and fear. Apprehension and more weapon protection.

She stared at her food.

Took a bite.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Stared into the distance a moment, saying it was absent-staring would be a lie.

And sighed again.

From there, time passed too quick for comfort and it was already sunset, a burning orange sky becoming orange-red by the clouds crawling across the sky. Tanya was nice to mix some potion with her stew, but that only made things more unfortunate for Rose: now able to stand, standing outside looking at the burning dawn with hints of twilight coming on:

She sighed a fourth time.

And when darkening twilight came.

A fifth sigh.

And a six when finding a certain axe.

"What are you doing?" She knew that voice from anywhere.

"Nothing." Rose said, and tried to hide the axe in her cloak, being only able to grip and not tuck the axe under her arm, "I'm fine, Theresa."

"A foolish thing to do, even consider, to go after those bandits in your condition."

"And you just want me to leave it alone, too?"

"Again, you are wounded. And lacking in any sort of fighting experience. The only thing you would achieve is your death."

Rose gripped the axe hard that her hand shook, was silent a moment before, "Then, you... might as well kill me now." If she couldn't find the guts to look at Theresa, at all, then its telling how she would hold herself against even the weakest bandit.

Silence, no words, moments seemed to pass in the tense eternity.

Then: "If you are so insistent... Take this."

Rose finally turned, and an odd familiarity struck her seeing the circular object in Theresa's hands, the intricate 's' brought a sort of calling sensation in her, but, there was something else, an apprehension she couldn't put her finger on: "W- what - what's that?"

"...A relic. It'll let me speak to you, only you will be able hear my voice with it. If you are serious about this, I suggest you take it."

Rose stared a moment at the relic, trying to reach the fogged reaches of her memory bank for the reason for the familiarity edging on her conscience, before, defeated and pushing the whole thought aside, stepped to Theresa who careful placed the circular object into Rose's bandaged hand. A light then shone, enveloping the relic whole, and its one foot wide body shrunk to about the size of her palm. It had a brass outer ring that was connected by the four silver points from the inner blue and adorned gold center ring which had the silver 's' in the center of that.

Theresa: "Worry not, for that is one of its functions for easy carry."

Bearing that in mind, Rose, as best as she could but managed, slipped the object into her skirt pocket. With this, realizing how just how inadequately dressed she was for fighting, seeing how it was inevitable in dealing with bandits. Too many clothes that restricted her movement - her cloak, her heavy sweater and heavy long skirt, her fur boots. All factored with the fact of her still healing body, her arm, and the slight nausea still persisting -

Theresa: "Do not worry." There was a gentle confidence in her tone that Rose couldn't help but suspect, "As I said, the relic will let me speak to you. I may not be with you in person, but I am with you in spirit. If you plan to save Gretta and the others, I suggest you do so now, while there is still some light to guide you." But then she held out her hand, "Or, are your doubts more deciding than yourself?"

Rose glanced the gate: "Even if I do get out of the camp, where do I -"

"Remember what the gypsys here call me?"

Rose narrowed her eyes: "The, Seeress, yes..."

"I've had a particular vision: moving shadows going east of here, and settling in a camp near the road going to Brightwood."

Rose roughly estimated the time to get there with the snow, the coming darkness, and the fact of the wild life becoming more alive - the humans retreating back to their homes, or walls in the case of this camp, and allowing the animals to roam free without worry to prey any lost and/or braving stragglers in the night, if they weren't hibernating, that it.

Altogether: it would take possible two and a half hours, if she remembered the distance between Bower Lake and Brightwood right. Night would already be fogging everything in darkness by then... If Theresa's supposed 'vision' was to be taken for granted.

But: "Won't anyone see my leaving the camp? The gate was blown apart."

"And a temporary one has been piecemealed together in its place. But with the numbers that are able to work, it may become too late to build a proper gate should any wondering packs of animals get too curious."

Rose could see what Theresa was suggesting: the fact this new gate was too hastily put together there would no doubt be holes and crevices to squeeze through for someone as small as her. And for small predatory animals, possibly like a wolf, possibly.

Rose pat the pocket that kept the relic: "I can hear you through this?"

"Asking more questions means losing precious time before it is too late."

Rose knew she was avoiding the question, but not without a grain of truth.

She frowned, then walked off toward the gate, holding the axe near the axe head and pulling her wrist back in keeping and hopes that the handle wasn't making a protrusion in her cloak. Glancing and glancing for any eyes going her way, which she didn't seemed to find any until reaching the gate.

Rose: "Tanya..."

Tanya was with crossed arms under her cloak. The footprints in the dirt and the patches of snow show she had been here for a while, if those were indeed hers, but this was insisted by the steaming mug beside the steaming pot on the ground.

Tanya opened her mouth but paused. Her lips pursed, and her unpatched eye wavered with emotions, tears welling.

Then it settled on Rose, shifting with streaking tears, sniffing, "Don't go..." She gasped with emotion, "Don't - don't go..." Her face twisted and scrunched with pain, closing her eye and putting a hand to her face, "Please, please don't go... please..."

Words echoed in Rose's mind, bubbling back:

 _...Don't go... Don't leave me all alone...!_

Rose gripped the axe hard, panting slightly, just able to stifle the tears lapping at the dam: "I... I need to."

She cursed herself mentally - what a way to start a reason.

"Rose, please, I appreciate the sentiment, but, you'll die. Your just'a kid, wounded at that, with only the axe you keep staring at, I presume."

Rose found her mouth working before her brain, her voice suddenly forceful: "You're just gonna leave your daughter?"

"DO - Do you think I want to?" Rose could hear it, the rage but also the desperation, "Do you think that I don't love her and wish the best for her? Do you think I...I..." She instantly became glassy-eyed and tears streaked down her face, covering her mouth.

That conclusion from before: this has _indeed_ happened before. Of course, if Gretta was her blood daughter she would have had her blood father, as he would also be Tanya's husband, assuming. But, perhaps, with this...

Regardless, she still needed a good reason for Tanya to step aside, the sun was not on her time: "Uh... Tanya, I... Theresa gave me something that'll help me, she'll watch over me."

"...Still... This is, this is something for the guards, just leave this... jus' leave this to them..."

Time was slipping from her hand, Rose glanced at the sky: the orange was a burning red that was quickly darkening to blues and purples. But within the mindset with what Rose can piece together just by their interactions from today, Tanya had her reasons for stopping her here, and as such there would be trouble in trying to convince Tanya to step aside.

But, knowing better: "Sorry..." Rose broke into sprint and shoved Tanya aside, who fell onto the wet slush, but Rose misjudged the woman by her reflexes by a swipe that caught Rose's cloak, yanking it off her shoulders, but Rose ran on, throwing herself through a crevice in the gate, taking care to slow before leaping.

She grunted, shifting her body to squeeze through, the wood scratching at her skin but winced at the it scraping at her bandages, ignoring the biting pain at her arm and shoulder and, finally, slipped through. Tugging off anything caught be it clothing or bandages, Rose ran over the bridge, sliding off to the right side of the hill the bridge was used for, and made off to Brightwood, cries echoing in the distance.

She ran as long as she could before needing to catch her breath and finally looked back and her brows rose at seeing no sight of the camp or any chasers. In fact, taking in her surroundings now, from what she had heard from the coming and going merchants she was already approaching the region of Brightwood, if the changing trees and flora around her said anything. The darkness of the night was now seeping onto the world, only so much light lighting her way by the omniscient eye that was the moon, and the cold was becoming colder, just now realizing by shuddering and carefully hugging herself for her left arm. Which, looking now, strips of bandages had been torn off, exposing her burn and cut flesh. Rose grimaced: they were uncovered, open to any material of the world - Rose didn't mean for her to take much care only so far in this ordeal.

"I didn't expect you to be so close so early," Rose jumped, readying the axe - right hand at the center of the base of the handle, the left hovering above the bottom, ignoring the pain in her arm, and glanced about to find nothing, "Don't be alarmed. As I said before, I'm speaking to you through the relic."

She fished the relic from her pocket, and her expectations were disappointed there was no indication that the relic was indeed working as intended by Theresa.

"You're almost there," Said Theresa's voice, "You should see it not far off. Do you see it?"

Rose took a second glance at her surroundings: there were orange glows of flames partially obscured by the snow and flora. Rose crouched down and approached slowly, so focused she wasn't aware of the unprecedented grace she put into each step, the quick yet almost inaudible stepping. The distance closing, she saw the camp - two, three camp fires; counting - thirty men that she could count. Her heart would have sank if not spotting the taken gypsys in a cage, and others separated into two additional cages, shivering and huddling together in the cold, just barely able to spot Gretta.

Theresa's voice came again: "Slavers. Nowadays, slavery isn't a rare sight, but it is not uncommon. Be careful, the numbers are against you, but I am here, a second pair of eyes: to your left, one of the men appear to be leaving the camp."

It being pointed out, Rose did see one of the slavers dragging a gypsy women away.

She was able to spot one of the men that the slaver passed raising a bottle: "'Ave fun, Tim'ey! Don' dam'ige the goods too much!"

This Timmy only grinned and tugged at the resistant woman; Rose didn't realize her bandaged hand was wet, dripping blood, shaking, her nails digging into her palms.

Theresa: "A perfect opportunity. Follow them, he's likely to pull the woman to a more quiet spot from the camp."

Rose was already prowling after the two, her eyes intense fires trained on the slaver. A few paces away, the slaver began to indulge on his dish that he never got to taste for the axe head cleaving into the side of his neck, stumbling him to his knees and fingers pressing against the wound, crimson rolling down the skin of his fingers; the last warmth he felt, and the girl with grit teeth and anger flaring her face slamming something down on his head was the last thing he saw before everything went black.

Rose wrung the axe off the cleaved head of the unmoving slaver and glared a moment before addressing the disheveled gypsy, who stared at her with wide eyes and mouth agape.

Rose: "Are you okay?"

The woman kept opening and closing her mouth, trying then finally found her voice: "Yer - yer Rose, right? The child the Seeress brought to us? You just killed -"

"I know." Merely, matter-of-factually, with a hint of joy.

"You - yuh - bu' - but yer just a child! I mean - thank you, but -!"

Rose glanced back the way they came, "Listen, I need you to tell what you saw in their camp."

"...Why? Are - are you - ARE you thinking of taking all of them alone?!"

"No: I have the Seeress - Theresa helping me, she's watching me right now. She's the reason why you're not - why you're safe right now."

"She - The Seeress is watching you?

"Yes! Come on! Tell me already!"

"O - O - ok-kay... Uh - um..." The woman paused a moment, thinking, "Uh... They're - they're all, stupid?"

Rose motioned with her hand, prompting: "...And?"

"They - they, uh... th-they-they have guns and b-b-blades and axes and ssuch... an-and... I-I didn't s-see any do-dogs - an-and-d - I'm sorry, I'm just - we - we wer-ern't given any pelts or cloaks or anything..." This proven by the woman clutching herself for warmth, shivering, teeth slightly chattering.

Rose couldn't deny the coming cold of the night, feeling that she herself was shuddering slightly from the lack of warmth, the thick clothing keeping her from becoming like the woman standing before her.

Rose: "Sorry, but, I forgot to get my cloak when coming here, I didn't think they would come this far away from the camp. But, hurry and tell me more, while we still have the time before they suspect anything."

The lie was guaranteed at the mentioning of the other slavers, but remembering the dead one before them, now given a time to breathe and think, the woman tugged off the pelt on the slaver and shook with a shuddering moan, grateful for the warmth wrapping around her, closing her eyes, but, opening: "Oh, do you need this?"

This was thought by Rose shaking, but not catching what she was looking at:

It was there.

She could see it in the coming light of the moon.

Nestled in the holster, the grip of a pistol radiated an evil that latched onto Rose, slithering and coiling her, squeezing the air from her lungs - she suddenly found it hard to breathe, wincing and putting a hand to her chest for the intense tightening there as her knees suddenly gave and collapsed onto her hands and knees.

The woman went to her side and tried speaking to her, but Rose was only hearing muffled words.

But Theresa words were clear: "Can you hear me? Do as I say: take a slow deep breaths - in, out, in, out. Inhale. Exhale. Don't think about that night, think about now. Think about what you can do now and prevent anything like that from happening under your watch. All of what you saw - switch the people with the people you know now. Switch Sparrow with Gretta."

Rose was raggedly breathing, trying, but seeing that pistol brought a rushing wave of emotions and vivid memories of that night in Castle Fairfax. But, that imagery of Gretta in Sparrow's place was bringing her back in control of her body, slowly bringing her mind back into focus, the tension in her chest lightening and breathing becoming easier. A moment passed and she was able to stand again, the sensation still lingering but tolerable otherwise.

The Woman: "Are you okay?"

Theresa: "The slavers haven't suspected anything yet. A distraction to draw their numbers away could help turn the odds in your favor, but at the cost of the slavers being on edge and bringing suspicion. If that's what you decide, the means to do so are in front of you."

Rose, answering the woman, keeping her eye off of the pistol: "I'm fine... for now..."

Finally, the woman caught what Rose was looking at, and said, "Look. You're still too young, even if you took a life - with... out, hesitation... You can't die at your age. I - I... the best you can do is get everyone else out."

The woman stooped down, pulling the pistol from the holster and picking a handful of bullets from the slaver's pocket. In stuffing those in her pocket, she reached again and pulled a key from a pouch, which she gave to Rose.

"You're lucky you killed one of them guarding the cages. I'll distract them, I'll run off and fire a couple shots. Hopefully, maybe half of 'em will look fer me."

Rose: "Wait... but, what if... what if they - ah! - find you?" Rose re-did Theresa's instructions, breathing slowly with a hand on her chest.

The woman grimaced, averting her eyes: "I... I, I'll be fine." And forced a smile, "I know how to use a gun. I have enough bullets here to take down some of 'em."

"B-but - I - I -"

"We're not heroes, Rose, we're just people, we can only do so much." The woman reached and grabbed the dead slaver's arm, "C'mon. Help me pull 'em out of sight."

As Rose did, Theresa chimed in: "She's right. Try to attack the camp with you two alone and both of you will surely die, and Gretta, gypsys, and those with them will be sold off as property. With this, you at least have a chance."

Placing the body some distance away and applying snow over the few blood spots trailing to the body, the woman pulled the banged and battered sword sheathed at slaver's hip, "Here, you'll need this more than me. Can you hold it okay?"

Rose assessed by weighing and giving a few testing swing, "It's a bit heavy, but I can swing it."

"Hmm. Kinda odd for someone skinny as you. But," She paused.

"What?"

The woman shook her head and brought Rose into a hug that gradually became firm: "You're doing a great thing. For someone yer age, yer doing something very brave."

"Uh... um..."

The woman removed herself: "Right. The camp's over there, remember?" She gestured to the general direction of the slaver camp, "When I shoot, wait for them to get away from the group, sneak around and open the cages. Okay?"

"Okay, but - bu -"

"Good. Like you said, we don't have the time. Let's do it." Rose saw the same forcefulness in the woman smiling before sprinting off, through the flora and the snow.

She was too fast, Rose stalling and stuttering and the sensation of weakness, unable to ask a simple thing: what is your name?

Rose became downcast a moment before turning to the freezing dead slaver, brows furrowing in contempt, the embers of the hate she had before becoming stoked. Her foot smashed into the dead slaver's groin before sneaking off to the camp.

There, at a safe distance away, she spotted the cages and the people shivering in them, huddled and clutching each other for the warmth they were sharing that was evidently not enough to carry them through the rest of the night. And she saw why the woman said the slavers were stupid first: the cages were facing outward, towards her, instead of toward in the center of the camp. She spotted a pile of bodies that could only be the guards that were sent off to find this camp. Persistent, the cold latching onto Rose, she waited for the woman's signal, that moments later, rang out in the distance. The slavers in the camp looking to that direction, reaching for the guns and swords. There was talk amongst them before a group grew by the number of gunshots that popped off: there was argument and shouting at one another in deciding for what to do before there finally came a begrudging consensus: over half of the group splintered off in search of the supposed party wandering in this cold night for a guaranteed extra weight to their coin purses. But, there were stubborn fools that followed behind them a moment after they left in apparent competition. The result: five people were remaining, the guards left in the greedy hopes of the party that left, and these five look to be the bottom of the bunch. While concern did weigh down on Rose's mind for the woman, Rose forced those thoughts aside when sneaking to the cage with the gypsys. They were too cold to be aware of her presence until one of them heard a clicking at the cage door and turned to see her.

In Rose giving a nearly quiet shush, more eyes turned to her and twinkled with hope and she shushed again, glancing up at the five remaining slavers who were the greenest she had even seen or heard of for slavers: one already off to sleep, two of them so bored they were doing the ol' patty cake, singing included, the fourth drooling and eyes so absent, the fifth - dare she describe, there was a sort of... romantic quality about him in staring dreamily into the night sky. From her peripherals, Rose saw the people from the two other cages, on either side of this one, were beginning to take notice and put her finger to her lips at both of them.

Before she opened the door, however, whispering: "I need a few of you to come with me and help me take care of the last slavers here."

Glimmering in the moonlight, Rose spotted Gretta's eyes: "R-Ro-rose?"

"Hey," Whispered one from one of the other cages, "What about us?"

Rose shushed again, glancing with fearful caution at the slavers again, then, after brief consideration, "We don't have much time! The slavers are gonna be back -"

Rose's head snapped to the direction of the consecutive gunfire shouting far off into the distance, already fearing the worst for the woman whose name she never got to learn, biting her lip.

And while the slavers' comments were popping off in the distance as loudly as their guns, Rose: "We don't have the time!" And then to cage she was at, "Hurry! Choose!"

Volunteers came by the dozens but Rose had to narrow the numbers for the obvious reason that even people as dumb as slavers can come by would notice missing stock and or rapid numbers escaping from captivity. As such, including Rose herself, there were six people. Carefully, gingerly pulling the door open by the rusting condition of the cage, eying the hinges and attentive to stop at even the tiniest squeak, which, much to her and the others' relief, there wasn't, and pointed out their ideal positions for a preemptive attack, needing to give one of them the sword she had obtained earlier:

Two of their numbers were to wait: them hiding behind the cage they just escaped from to rush for the two playing patty-cake.

The one that Rose gave the sword to: she circled to behind the dreamy romantic as he was the most likely one to call the party back; Rose gestured to her neck, then jerked her hands in fists as though she were stabbing with a stick.

One man with a bandana volunteered for the sleeping one: unwrapping his bandana and wrapping the ends to his hands.

The last spotted a hefty rock for smashing: fitting for the last slaver, the dribbler, primitive killing for the one giving the air of one.

Rose, herself, after considering again, she went to the two other cages and unlocked their doors, saying it was: "Just in case." But, after that she was to supervise the whole ordeal and give help to anyone needing it, it was the only role that the volunteers agreed on.

So, after carefully sneaking into position, the gunshots and shouting ticking their remaining time away, Rose held up three fingers where she hoped the five could see, and if they didn't, she said, follow the others:

Three.

Two.

One.

She swung her palm down.

The two hiding at their cage darted for the playing duo, clutching them and, following Bandana's example, had taken the risk of using their shirts, for the cold, to choke them out.

The Romantic shot up from sitting, opening his mouth to garble the blood that was spilling from his mouth from the blade protruding forth from his neck.

Because he was sleeping, Bandana quickly slipped his bandana over his target's throat and planted his feet at the back of his target's neck and, in leaning back, pushed his legs with his all, the scrabbling fingers against the bandana to pull away were no match.

The Rock Man, after his first swing, the Dribbler was more resilient than had thought, tackling Rock Man down soon after of the blow struck against him, wildly swing his fists like a child in a tantrum. Solely concentrated on his assailant he didn't notice Rose rushing for him with the axe high, cleaving down and drinking blood with its maw half-way in the top of the Dribbler's head, where then all his movements stopped at once and went limp.

In seeing one of the shirt-stranglers having trouble with their slaver, jerking the axe out of the Dribbler's head, in which blood spewed and splashed onto Rose, dotting her lower stomach of her shirt up and onto the left side of her face with red, Rose dashed for the struggling slaver, eyes trained with utter focus, and the axe flashed silver in the flickering fire - the last thing the slaver saw before everything went black as the axe blade smashed into his face;and the axe drank in more blood.

That done, removing the axe, Rose glanced around at the work that was done: all of the last remaining slavers were dead. In seeing the small number of stock pile weapons and the arms on the dead slavers, Rose found her mouth moving: "Each and every one of you grab a weapon - if there isn't any more, grab a good rock or stick to use. The group that had left will be back soon - hurry!"

And at once, the people that were captured stormed out of their cages and took up arms, following Rose's advice for the lack of any.

Bandana found the courage to approach Rose: "H-Hey... Are you okay?"

"Yes? Why wouldn't I be? We killed them out any injuries. Hurry up and arm yourself!"

Bandana: "I - ye-yeah..."

As Bandana went off, Rose saw Gretta staring at her from beside the cage she was just in, seemingly no longer cold, at least, not too much evident by her slightly shaking.

Rose didn't notice as she approached Gretta becoming tense, and before her, kneeling: "Don't worry. We'll be fine, you don't have to get a weapon if you don't want to."

Gretta gulped, and stiffly nodded.

A moment passed and everyone was at least armed with something.

Rose scanned their surroundings.

And smiled.

* * *

The slavers that had set off came running back wheezing and clutching at their bodies, some of them carrying and dragging their wounded back to their camp that they noticed after a moment taking a breath was deserted. But, signs were clear of a struggle.

"Oi!" One of them shouted: "You fa've nimwitts, whe' ar' you?!"

A moment passed - nothing.

This Caller turned left and right with all the poise of an agitated person on the edge of blowing their top, clenched jaw and grit teeth, hands in hard balls: "Damn it, wher' ar' you all?!"

"Fire!"

Things went too fast for complete comprehension after that shouting voice of a young girl that was followed by consecutive gunfire: the man winced and folded feeling a sharp tense pain from his stomach that passed through his whole being, and had only enough time to do that: the girl that had shouted that command charged and leaped, becoming shadowed by the moon above, but her eyes and her open-mouthed smile and the axe were plain to see, the blood that had splashed onto her face.

Rose delivered that killing blow, axe onto the crown of the head with all of her might, lucky break for her size for the slaver to go down in one hit.

She had ordered half of those with guns, those with deemable aim, armed with rifles to line up in a three respective single file lines: the first row up firing in short interval succession, that way the rows would sill rain bullets while giving reloading row to do just that. The rest of the shooters, those who didn't have as good aim were armed with pistols, positioned closer to the slavers, and shot to their hearts content, for as long as the ammo they had.

Caught off guard and confused, added with their numbers being wounded and exhausted from just returning here, half of the group was already dead or added to the number of casualties. When the pistol shooters ran out of ammo, they readied their blades or, as a majority of them had, rocks and sticks and charged on. Aided by the Rifle Rows, their casualties were kept to a low as the shooters covered the front liners despite the lack of skill of a sword or lack of proper equipment.

And with those charging, was Rose, adrenaline invigorating her body and reflexes, though only able to kill some she was able to injure the slavers to the favors of the following up attackers. Swinging and swinging as though in a raged abandon,seemingly to any on-lookers, Rose's mind was clear despite becoming linear with her objective:

Kill the slavers, if not, injure to make things easy for the others, make them pay - was the sole engine working in her brain.

Swinging and swinging, the axe suddenly becoming lighter with each, a practiced grace her mind was too focused to notice, bringing her movements in and out of different slavers until she found herself looking at the sky after being tackled down - a slaver. Perhaps this slaver thought he would at least go down with at least one kill, the easiest being Rose, being the child, but didn't get to taste it when the barrel of a pistol made all the light go out. Blood splashed onto Rose, hair, face, clothes, onto the smoking pistol was in her hand, snatched from the ground nearby, that was thrown away thereafter. But the body fell onto her - the stench, the blood; it took all of Rose's might to push the body off of her, and when she jumped to her feet the coming silence told her it was over.

Looking around, there wasn't a single slaver left alive.

There were cheers, of course, but weary eyes fell onto Rose, staring at her back, becoming bloody by the spreading blood.

One of them approached, with fear and nervousness stiffening her every step, her tiny voice barely audible: "U-um... Rose?"

Rose turned around, and saw Gretta scream, covering her eyes with her head down, tears flooding through her fingers.

Rose reached for Gretta: "Gretta? Gretta, I'm fine, what's -" She stopped, gasped, and sneezed, dropping to her knees, "Ahh-ho ghaad! Its - i-i-i - AAEETCHOO!"

Three of the on-lookers watching this moved: one to calm Gretta, the other two to Rose, to find her warmth, tugging a decent heavy cloak off a dead slaver and wrapping it over her while they wiped away from the blood from her face when they brought her to the still burning camp fire. Which, was quickly tended to to be sure it was kept ablaze and was even made bigger for all the captured to circle around, people taking the deemable cloaks off the dead and handing them out.

Moments of this passed: warming up, taking time to count the injured and possibly fatalities. But, soon, footsteps were heard crunching towards them, but none of them raised any weapons:

"Bloody hell! This is a bloodbath!" A guard that voiced the thoughts of the others that followed behind him.

The guard looked up at all of those around the now-bonfire: "Did'jyou all do this?"

Nods and voiced confirmation went about, as well as details of what happened before and after this ably named 'blood bath.'

There, a talk of what to do from here was conducted, a quick one: being offered to be escorted to the gypsy camp, a group of which were recently kidnapped from there, there was a consensus that agreed. Some wood from the campfire was carefully taken as crude torches but also as sources of heat, that, once becoming dangerous to hold any longer or dying or crumbling away, were dropped. However, after sometime, they arrived at the Gyspsy Camp.

And, as Rose found herself fearing as they were walking along, a scream split the air, and Tanya burst from the swinging door that was built in the temporary wall. Which, now that she looked at it again, a sense of shame coming onto Rose: with how she got through, she could have destroyed the gate. Perhaps this was a sign to how truly inadequate she was.

Tanya: "Rose! Rose, why are you bloody, are you okay, where are you hurt - how bad is it - your wounds opened again!" But then Tanya she dropped to her knees, pulling in Rose and Gretta, close by, into a tight hug, kissing both, and becoming a sobbing mess.

After, the gypsys that were kidnapped returned to their loved ones, while the others that were captured were quickly given spare tents, which a number people had to squeeze together inside to compensate, and camp fires were made with meals that were able to be spared. Gretta was quiet through all of this, and it was clear this brought Tanya distress, but, duty called, and Rose was treated first:

Her burns in her arm and the cuts in her shoulder had, indeed, reopened and had bleed, worse that it had mixed with the blood that had soaked her clothing, Tanya's anxiety was evident by her using a quarter the medicine made by Theresa, which she had made that day, in hopes of preventing infection or anything worse. Which, a few days later, had worked - no signs of disease or infection whatsoever. And because Rose was splattered and reeked of blood, Rose was forced to bathe, efficiently using cups of boiled water cooled to hot to wash her body. And with the help of Theresa, all of the injured were healed without worry.

The guards had offered to stay the night with the group of people camping in the camp, going on shifts to be on the look-out - it was accepted immediately.

Rose wanted to talk to Gretta, but, when she did, the young girl merely went away, avoiding her. Rose left Gretta at that, merely giving her space, after all she had seen given that she was still a kid. Rose found herself downcast by this, trudging to her caravan before remembering it was in need of repair.

But there was a tent beside it, and before it, by a camp fire, a familiar person: "Ah. There you are. I knew you would return victorious."

Rose crossed her arms, frowning: "Yeah... But, I don't feel like I won."

"Gretta, the Healer-to-be, no doubt. Give her time. She has witnessed what a child should not see at their age, give her time, which I'm assuming you are doing," Theresa gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the campfire, and Rose accepted the hospitality: "Don't burden yourself with regrets and doubts or anything of the sort that you are feeling right now. Instead, look at the people you saved,"

At Theresa's gesture, Rose turned her head to the people she had saved, the captives and the gypsys, their love and germinating friendships reflecting on the fires glowing their faces orange. The warmth they felt, Rose could feel from here, being with each other, their chats with smiles despite the ordeal they faced or the injuries on their bodies, despite the hints of trauma that Rose could sense, but, perhaps that was just her.

Theresa continued: "Because of your actions, they now have each other, instead of themselves, confined will to the mercy of their now-would-be masters. A fate that can be worse than starving on the streets, but, by your experience I'm sure you can understand."

Too much had happened today - Rose didn't want to remember, think about any of her experiences she went through with Sparrow - in fact, altogether because of Sparrow, but, now, she found her mind seeping back into those memories, moments playing in her mind.

"If you do wish to defeat Lucien, remember there is no strength without pain, and no aspiration without suffering. Without suffering, there can be no progress, no wisdom. Anything you could have done better, aspire to do better."

Rose: "So, you're saying that all my experiences, no matter what it is, I should be using it to better myself?" She paused a moment, then, "Like, being better than degenerates?"

Theresa, that calm, vacant tone of her's: "Take it as you will, Rose. But there is a difference in bettering yourself and following your beliefs to following a crusade."

Perhaps it was the fatigue, perhaps it was ignorance, but, Rose, brows furrowing: "What?"

Theresa presented her hand, saying: "That relic, I need it back. Its essential for what I must do. Do not worry, you'll receive it again, in time."

Again, with having so many things happen Rose didn't find any worth of consideration - she returned it without question.

Theresa: "Your faithful friend is still recovering, but should wake soon. And in the meantime, use this tent for your lodging until your caravan is repaired. Your books managed to survive the ordeal and are inside."

Theresa saw Rose's absent eyes staring into the fire, "Don't be so hard on yourself, Rose. Rest, you've been through a lot. No need to stay up."

Rose sat absent-minded for a moment longer before dragging herself up from her seat, the fatigue sinking in, needing to push at her knees to stand, and into her tent, where she settled into the bedroll inside and slept moments after she closed her eyes. Her dreams going to a certain man, a certain woman, and a certain boy.

Theresa sat there, near the campfire for awhile before turning her hooded head to the tent Rose was now sleeping in, staring. Then back to the campfire, staring more until: "Perhaps... this... Only having read so much and yet..." She stopped there, falling silent for a moment before standing from her seat and going to see if anyone in the camp needed her services.

Having seen her during the escort back to the gyspsy camp, the moment Rose woke the next day she went to Tanya, asking for the woman whose name she didn't know. She was guided to a caravan on the path leading to the overhanging bridge of the gate, that now had enough hands where full repair was already in sight despite needing a few more days of work, where two girls were playing with dolls just outside it, and Rose could see the resemblance.

Tanya gently smiled: "Hello, girls."

One of them didn't say anything but look with weary eyes.

The other, however, braved and forced out, mumbling: "...Hi, Tanya..."

It was obvious to Rose that these were the woman's daughters, that they were distressed by the condition of their mother by the lack of motivation in their play, but their eyes said it all. What made it hurt the most - they both looked to be about eight years old.

Tanya: "Has your mother woken up yet?"

"...No..."

"Can I see her? To check on her?"

The girls' eyes shifted to Rose.

Tanya: "This girl... This is the girl that saved everyone, and she wants to see if your mother is okay."

The girls' eyes then shone with admiration while still being nervous.

And finally, that first girl: "You - you saved... Mom...?"

Rose found herself becoming nervous in turn: "Y-yes..." In that coming brief pause, Rose had to consider telling them that Rose was the reason why their mother was in her current condition, tell them she had to sacrifice her well-being for her to save the others: "Uh-um..."

Thankfully, Rose was spared from saying such words: the girls went to the door of their caravan, pulling on the loop-handle together until helped by Tanya, who opened it for them. Then, they stood still, that admiration before overwritten by worry washing over them in seeing their mother unmoving inside.

Tanya knelt to their level: "Hey, you like Lucas's stew, right?"

The girl on the left stiffly nodded, not saying anything, but the other: "...Mmm-hmm..."

"Then, go there now," Tanya pointed, "Lucas is cooking it right now, go on. You might be able to get seconds."

Uneasy, the girls looked at each other, then staring uncertainly at Tanya.

The girl on the left: "You'll take care of her... right?"

"Terri." Tanya said, "What am I, in this camp?"

"The camp Healer..." Terri mumbled.

"Yes. That means that anyone injured is my responsibility," She looked to the girl on the right, "Hanna. Do you have anything to say?"

Hanna looked down, not saying anything, but she glanced at Rose before taking Terri's hand and guiding her off to the direction Tanya pointed to.

Rose eyed them until they disappeared behind one of the tents clogging the center of the camp, then to Tanya: "Those are her kids?"

Tanya: "Yes. And her last."

Rose blinked: "Huh?"

In Tanya entering the caravan, Rose followed, apprehension hitting her like a wall the moment she entered, seeing the woman on the bedroll. She jumped at the heavy clunk of Tanya closing the door. Tanya's footsteps on the wooden floor of the caravan seem to grow louder with each step with a gradual echo; Rose found herself gripping her skirt. As aforementioned, the woman was on the bedroll with a blanket over her, her face pale and seemingly drawn by being shadowed by the light spilling in through the window, her hair splayed, going up the pillow and off the bedroll, if she was wearing anything she wasn't wearing a shirt.

Tanya carefully pulled back the blanket.

Rose gasped, hands cupping over her mouth, eyes going wide, getting tunnel vision:

There were bandages in other places of her body, but the wrapping just under her waist screamed for attention, disappearing in the skirt she wore - there was a red spot growing in the waist bandages.

Tanya sighed: "...Gotta change those."

As Tanya went to do that, Rose found her voice again: "S-so... when - when you said -" Rose was struck into silence by the red stitches below the woman's belly button.

Tanya sighed again: "It was a long night last night - I knew I didn't sew it right. Hang on."

The moment Tanya left to get her things, Rose had enough time staring at the bleeding stitched wound for it to be branded into her mind.

She had saved all the other people.

But...

Her, this woman...

'Are those her kids?'

'Yes. And her last.'

It was simple math, but...

When Tanya returned, Rose had to recompose herself before finally getting her nerve: "She-she... she can't... She can't have any more kids...?"

"Yes," Tanya said, after applying a sort of powder and undoing some of the stitches to properly restitch, "Even when Theresa saw it, even there was nothing she could do."

The first set of stitches were undone, and Tanya readied the needle that had the new stitch tied, but, she inspected for infection, which required peeling the folds of the wound back, just enough for Rose to ask, averting her eyes: "Whe-where's Gretta?"

"In my caravan."

Rose excused herself and left, going for Tanya's caravan. Gretta wasn't outside. Rose before and staring at the caravan door, stood there for a moment before finally getting the courage to knock.

Nothing.

Rose spotted Terri and Hanna sitting by the cooking fire, eating their stew but also spotting Rose and staring.

Rose knocked again, "Gretta, its me. Its Rose. Are you okay? Can I talk to you?"

There was a faint shuffle from the inside, and the doorknob of this caravan door turned, popping open where Rose heard a grunt from the other side. The door opened wide, and Gretta stood before Rose, still in her nightwear.

For a moment, they stood stock still, staring at each other, life going on all around them.

Then:

Rose: "Um, Hi."

Gretta: "Hi..."

They returned to silence, not saying anything, looking towards but not directly at each other.

Then finally, Rose: "Can I come in?"

Gretta stiffly stepped aside, and Rose entered.

Tanya's caravan was wider than the others, a given given the fact Tanya was the camp healer, suspended shelves on the walls filled with jars of different plants, herbs, and the like. Books here and there, medicinal powders from Theresa, from what Rose could remember from last night. There was a small table set against the far right corner that had mortar and pestles and clay bowls. There were two separate bedrolls - one done, nice and prim; the other - the blanket dragged off, evident that this was the bedroll Gretta sleeps in, despite it being larger than her.

Gretta: "...Wud'jyou wan' t'talk about?" She still wasn't looking directly at Rose.

Rose: "Um... Are you doing okay? I remember you screamed when you saw me last night."

Gretta averted her eyes completely, but tried to find something else to look at, manners conflicting with feelings, "Yeah..."

"Was it because I had so much blood on me? Did you, um, did you think I was gonna die?"

Tears filled Gretta's eyes: "...You were smiling."

"What? Wait, when?"

"Every time!" The tears were streaking down Gretta's face, her eyes finally Rose "Every time you killed or - or-or-or-or, cut one of the slavers you kept smiling. That's, probably why, everyone did what you told them to do."

Rose thought back to last night, trying to distinctly remember any sort of sensation, any sort of sense that she was, indeed, smiling during the whole rescue and attack on the slavers. She couldn't.

"Are you sure? I don't think that I was."

"Rose, why do you think there were people scared of you? With - with all the blood and, you smiling?"

"I - I... I don't even -" Rose spotted the apprehension on Gretta face, the lingering fear, "...Was I smiling?"

Gretta stiffly nodded.

Rose thought back again, putting a hand to her head, digging and scrapping through her memory.

Gretta: "...Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"...Do you promise - I- I know that you - I know that you can-can't forgive bandits a-and th-those kinds-s of, people, and I'm-I'm t-t-thankfully that, that you saved me, b-but... p-please, don-don't become worse than them hating them."

"I..." Those eyes, those brown washed with a sea of tears, Rose felt something familiar about them, something which urged her to oblige: "Uh, sure... I promise."

With that, Gretta closed in, wrapping her arms around Rose's waist, sniffing, and Rose felt a wet spot developing on her shirt. Rose returned the gesture, again, by obligation, softly rubbing her back.

There, Rose let Gretta let it all out a moment, before, looking up: "So, has Arthur woken up yet?"

Removing herself, Gretta wiped her face, "Not yet. But he's not in any danger. Before we slept, Mother checked his wounds - 'he's just as though as her' she said."

"They're closed already?"

"Yep. Everything else about him seems fine, all he needs to do is wake up and take it easy for a couple of days, if he is anything like you. Actually, is your arm healed already?"

Rose partially undid the bandage at her wrist and presented the healing but progressively good burns.

Gretta stared, then: "You and Arthur are weird..."

Rose didn't have any comment, at least worth mentioning, but the whimpering at the opposite end of the caravan was telling: the rays of morning light seeping in through the window settled over Arthur's body, twinkling the black pearls of his eyes. He whimpered but there was a blank, confused air about him, glancing about before he groggily swung his head to Rose and Gretta. Seeing them, he planted, pushed at the floor with his legs to stand but they gave immediately and he plopped onto the ground.

Rose rushed to his side, "Arthur, no! You're still healing - its okay, it okay."

As she did that, Gretta snatched her pelt-cloak, "Where's Mother?!"

Rose: "Uh... at Terri's and Hanna's caravan."

Gretta paused a moment before shoving open the door and leaped out, rushing up the slope.

There, them together again, Arthur sniffed at Rose's bandages, whimpering again.

Rose: "Oh, this? Its fine - I'm fine, really," Like with Gretta, Rose presented the condition of her wound to Arthur, "See? Even though you got it worse than me, you seem to be as tough as me apparently."

There was a curious glint in Arthur's eyes.

"I don't know what that means, but," Rose carefully wrapped her arms onto Arthur's form, her eyes closing with a small smile on her face, "I'm happy that you're here."

Arthur whimpered again, but Rose sensed a grateful tone, confirmed by the tongue soon licking her face.

From there, days passed - weeks, months, years. The pain of loss, the pain of consequence, stirred and brewed. Burning. And thus, eight summers, eight winters of the fire kindling itself - dormant strength that Rose didn't even realize would be so dangerous.

And so fragile.


	3. Chapter 3

The trees waved in welcoming the air of the spring breeze, ruffling their leaves, the crisp sound of them rustling. The sun beamed warmth across the land. Birds sang in the trees as the gypsys in their camp played their lutes, sang, ate, and drank in their merriment. And from a caravan, a tan woman with flowing locks kept off her face by a headband came out, tall, slender, busty, and sharp with features of beautiful maturity. The changing color jewels of her hazel eyes scanned the gypsys losing themselves to the wave of song and fun and spotted a familiar cook.

"Lucas," She called as she approached the aging cook, grey coming onto his hair and face becoming lined with wrinkles, yet his smile seemed to retain all his youth, "Have you seen Rose? The Seeress needs to speak to her."

Lucas sipped his mug, smelling of beer, like everyone else in the center of camp, smiling as he then stroked his beard: "Heh... I think you already know where she is, like everyone else."

Saying that, in the distance: "DAMN IIIT!"

None of the gypsys reacted except the few kids about giving worried and or fearful, nervous glances towards the lake.

The woman frowned: "Why did we bother putting her in with that group, again?"

Lucas's smile didn't disappear: "T'get'er outta'er blasted caravan! Heheh, you should know Gretta - you know'er don'cha?"

Gretta sighed: though she wouldn't admit it, Rose being part of that group, her screaming in frustration became a sort of staple novelty, sort of in the vein of a chicken clucking at the dawn of morning, some even utilizing it as reference for the time. Also, because she and many others had seen the possible future foretold on that day when Rose saved them from the slavers years before, a consensus was made that Rose screaming her frustration away could help her, which did yield the obvious results: her getting out of her caravan, as aforementioned, and less frustration in general.

Gretta: "Well, jis' had to be sure. Thanks, Lucas!" Lucas nodded, returning to his business as he took a swig of his mug as Gretta headed down for the lake.

Where, she made a quick stop at the edge nearest to the camp, at a ruin of sorts from the Old Kingdom: "Hanna, Terri, how's the fishing going with you all?"

Hanna, dry, focused on her line: "How d'you think it is?" And nodded her head at the already three pale's of fish and a fourth just about to be finished, with four more on the side waiting to be filled.

Terri's bob popping under the surface of the water kept Terri from speaking to Gretta. She pulled with practiced handling, reeling with fast, efficient hands, and gave a sharp tug, catching the fish with a smile: another fish for the bucket.

Which, tossing that in, Terri: "Um... As much as we're jus' using Rose, a'leas' we're not gonna go hungry for a couple'a weeks..." And put on a nervous smile.

The others, young men and women, some teens, some being on-looking adolescents in seeing the run down of their possible duties in the future, nodded. Some of them voicing the same sentiment with their own guilty conscience on the matter.

Gretta, looking away: "And I'm assuming she's where she always is?"

Hanna, slowly nodding, matter-of-factually: "Where she always is."

Gretta was already looking at Rose, diagonally right, across from the whole group, on another shore of the lake with Arthur loyaly at her side, wet and nibbling on a fish that she could only assume he caught himself, which, she didn't know that dogs would even be interested in eating fish.

And even here, the irritation plastered on Rose's face was clear, so much it seemed to be a human mask that molded to the features of her face, which, the face alone that she was making seemed to age her enough to resemble a crotchety elder.

Where Rose was, Gretta needed to walk back up and onto the road in order to get to her. Because of the more intricate operation the slavers pulled years ago, Guards regularly patrol now with an outpost made between Bowerstone and Bowerlake. As such, slaver and bandit activity had been on the steady decline, and in those starting years, people, in general, were more confident to walk the roads again, albeit still being armed. But, recently, where there were one-man patrols there were now three, sometimes Gretta spotting four, and she wasn't the only one: overtime, despite being mentioned only once, from what Gretta could recall, concern grew again at camp, and the mentality from eight years ago was being borne back.

But people remained optimistic: if there were things happening, they weren't hearing anything about it. A complete eye-roller for Gretta.

Rose glanced at Gretta upon hearing her footsteps then was back to her vigilance with utmost focus. Arthur being more welcoming: going to Gretta and licking at her hand that was meant to lick him but she stopped seeing how this was enough to substitute the gesture.

Gretta, with a smile on her face: "Doing a good job, I see."

Rose: "...As good as I'm doing," She then sighed irritably, "Dammit! C'mon! Bite the bait!"

Gretta chuckled, which if Rose was fazed by it she didn't react to it: "Well, either way, the Seeress asked me to find you."

Rose looked from the lake to Gretta with an arched brow: "Theresa? Why?"

Gretta shrugged: "She only told me to tell you: 'The time has come.'"

Rose's face became blank and she stared at Gretta, unmoving a moment, before returning to her fishing rod: "At least lemme get one fish. One fish, at least one."

"But I don't think you have the time to be fighting against fish, Rose. The Seeress seemed to be in a hurry."

"Just one. Just one!"

"Rose - "

"Just one, okay! If a dog can catch a fish then so can I!"

Arthur's bark seemed be encouraging.

Then: "Surely what I promised is more satisfying than winning against fish?" Theresa.

Theresa came into Gretta's peripherals abruptly, without any footsteps, as silent as a breeze, making her jump: "Seeress!"

Rose glanced at Theresa, acknowledging: "Theresa."

Theresa: "I made you a promise years ago when I brought you to the gypsy camp, and now that time has come."

Gretta, raising her hands: "I'm going back to the camp. I have a feeling this is a personal thing between the two of you."

Theresa: "That would be best. In fact, I had just finished creating more of that medicine you and your mother wished for, I even wrote down the recipe for your on the table in your caravan."

Gretta: "Really?! Then I'll see you back in camp, Rose!." And she went off back to camp with a slight skip in her step.

Finally together alone, Rose with a glare: "Why did it take so long?"

"The same reason you doubted your ability back then, when saving those the slavers had taken - you were too young still." And she held up a finger: "And discovering the whereabouts of your enemy."

Rose's eyes settled on Theresa, all care of fishing washed away by hardened determination, ablaze: "You know where Lucien is?"

"But first! Today is your birthday, is it not? You're twenty two now, aren't you?"

"...I asked for no more chocolates."

Theresa dismissively waved her hand: "Nothing of the sort - things that will be useful for your quest for vengeance, I placed them in a chest near your caravan. Go now, unfortunately we're short on time."

Rose was actually considering: glancing at Theresa and to the fishing rod in her hands before finally standing and tossing it to Theresa as she passed her, running off towards camp, Arthur panting behind her. She wasn't even panting when coming onto the bridge despite the distance from where she was to here, jogging to her caravan and saw the chest Theresa spoke of.

Going to it, Rose mumbled: "'Least you were telling the truth about that... ffheh, 'cold bathing'..."

Opening the chest, her axe inside immediately caught her eye: it had hung on the wall of her caravan, placing it in this chest seemed more of a waste of effort, unless Theresa had her reasoning, perhaps this being her way to tell her to take it. But, in truth, everyone would likely be glad to be rid of it. Ever since that day when Rose wielded it against the slavers, the brown wood of the handle had become that of a dark mahogany color, and which seemed to give it a quality that kept everyone away from it, intimidated. Some saying so much to not even contemplate the idea of touching it, neither the kids would dare each other to touch it. As such, it was gratefully given to Rose. Which, Rose didn't understand: despite the changing color there was nothing different about it to the axe the gypsy used for a replacement. Well - there was one, but it was a small difference: her axe chopping wood easier than the replacement, but, overall, that was it.

Regardless, also inside was a couple vials of healing potion, a rifle, a belt with pouches, which one was filled with bullets for the rifle, and loops for swords or tools, she assumed. Things she would be grateful for if the quality of all of the items were on par with the belt: the vials of potions were cheap, bearing no difference than those in the camp store, and the rifle was no better than a rusted pipe and mechanisms beaten onto corroded driftwood - the thing was so old, in fact, that Rose even doubted if the thing would even ignite the gunpowder in the bullets, much less fire.

It was spring, Rose dressing for the part, the skirt she wore had loops for which she could put the belt on. Done, she turned to Arthur: "How do I look, boy?"

Arthur titled his head, yet, then, gave a soft bark.

Rose looked down at herself, assessing: "Well... I guess I look fine, all things considering." She then entered her caravan, glancing at the wall of books taking up the right side of the caravan and seeping onto the left with small stacks, going to the human-sized mirror leaning against the opposite wall of the door.

She frowned, remembering:

"Hey, uh... Tanya?"

"Rose? Is something the matter - are you wounded?"

"N-no... It, it'uh... Why - why are, um, the others kids growing taller than me when I'm older?"

"Ah-hah... That's right, even Gretta's reaching yer height. Well, from what the Seeress had told me, you were street rats living in Bowerstone and tried coming here for a better life. From what I can assume, because you and yer brother had t'skip meals, not getting proper nourishment... your height's stunted."

"...Is there -"

"Nope. I'm afraid there isn't a way to cure that, sorry..."

To now, having stopped growing a couple of years back, Rose stood a full five feet, one inch, her brown hair, bearing a red tint, grown dark and flowing to her shoulders, slender but the hints of curviness told what her body would be like had she had properly sustained herself, and though not busty by the definition she had a bust big enough for her frame to be considered that. Though having a short stature, the amount of maturity she was allowed told the world enough that she was more of a young woman than a child, if possible a growing young teen. All that in a attire suited for a pauper, which, speaking of, her clothing choice consisted more of long sleeves for the scarred burns on her left arm.

Rose: "Yeah... I guess I look alright..." And left her caravan, returning to the chest for her axe and the junk-piece that was the rifle, which, respectively, hung from one of the loops in her belt and in-hand by the barrel seeing how the rifle seemed more fitting for bludgeoning at its state.

There, Rose spotted Gretta ambling towards her: "Hey, Rose. I just came to check if things were okay, I saw you jogging by. But, uh, why do you have... is that a rifle?"

Rose held up the rifle and glanced at it with drooped eyes, she clicked her tongue, then,: "...'Pparently."

"Are - are y'going to... What does the Seeress want of you?" Saying that, Gretta spotted the belt on the belt loops of Rose's skirt.

"I don't know, she told me to get the stuff she put in this chest in front of my caravan."

"Oh, is the Seeress being cheap with you, again?"

Rose pursed her lips: "I'kin only assume..."

"Your birthday is today, right? At least it isn't chocolates, again."

Rose rolled her eyes.

Gretta: "Why does the Seeress like t'pull yer leg, if you know what I mean. Other than that she cares about you."

Rose threw up her hands, "I dunno. And also," She pointed to Gretta's shirt, "Why is that so popular still?"

Gretta's shirt was a stylized one-sleeved shirt, the sleeve being on the left arm, being baggy and air-y, "Why not?! It - well, its your fault it became popular, your the one who first did it."

"When I didn't want the sun to touch my burns that were still healing."

"And you kept wearing it, all the time, and Terri and Hanna caught on and started making her own."

Rose shrugged: "Whatever, least its making people happy and getting money in for the camp. Anyway, did Theresa come back yet, do you know?"

Gretta shook her head: "No. But, I think she'll come to you. She always does, doesn't she?"

Rose rolled her eyes again, "...Yeah..."

Then, Gretta: "Actually," And pulled out a pouch, "I kinda lied," In handing the pouch to Rose, "Happy Birthday, Rose."

In taking it into her palm, there was a small jangling inside. Rose arched her brow, the weight of the pouch was light and the jangle didn't have the heavy sort of sound or sounding metallic - buttons? But even then, why? She opened the pouch and a sweet fruity fragrance flowed out, and reaching in with two fingers pulled out: "A red bean?"

"Eat it." Gretta prompted, smiling. It was on occasion that Rose cursed Gretta for being so beautiful, something that she felt that she didn't have.

Rose narrowed her eyes at Gretta, and slowly put the red bean in her mouth, and her eyes popped open, chewing: "Cherry?"

"Apparently, they're called Jelly Beans."

"That would explain why its sticking to my teeth," Rose looked in the pouch, "So, these are fruit flavored beans?"

"Don't leave it in the sun or put it anywhere hot because it'll melt, I was told."

Rose popped another into her mouth: "Strawberry!"

Gretta chuckled: "Your welcome." Gretta's hand moved to pet Rose's head but stopped before Rose saw any note-worthy movement, enjoying the treat too much for its novelty. Then gate opening diverted her attention, and spotted Theresa in the fishing group returning with smiles, pales and pales of fish in their hands, "Oh, there's the Seeress!"

Hearing that, Rose looked towards the gate, seeing Theresa as well, and closed and tossed the pouch to Gretta: "Thanks, by the way. Can you put that in my caravan for me?"

"No problem."

Rose started off down the path, "Thanks. See you later."

As Rose went, Gretta waved her off, smiling: "Bye!"

Passing the other gypsys, passing the fishing group perfumed with the sun and fish, Rose met Theresa at the foot of the gate, having been repaired long since eight years ago, even having been improved by those people that had stayed for awhile in their tents. And for the last eight years, Theresa's attire hasn't changed one bit - still in her heavy green hooded robe, her face opaque by the shadows enveloping it. Out of all the things that were changed by time, Theresa seemed to be the exception.

Theresa: "There you are. Follow me."

As they went out onto the bridge, Rose, holding up the rifle: "Theresa... How cheep can you get?"

Theresa didn't respond, continued to walk until they were at the hill, where she finally turned to Rose: "This should look familiar, should it not?" In Theresa's palm that she presented, was, indeed, a familiar sight.

Rose took it from Theresa's hand into her's, staring at it: "Yeah... Of course."

The relic, from eight years ago.

Theresa continued: "I'm sure you've seen it many times in these last eight years," And she pointed, "That structure at the center isle of the lake. If I recall, you, Gretta, and a couple other of kids at the time swam there to try and open it."

Rose's eyes drooped, she rubbed the knuckles on her right hand "...And I think you know how well that went."

"If that curiosity still thrives - that relic, that seal, is the key to opening the door. Inside, you'll find something there that will be essential in your quest for Lucien that when you emerge from its depths you'll be stronger, much stronger. Slavers, bandits - you will be able to handle them with ease."

Rose's eyes widened as her head perked up, but soon her eyes narrowed as she slightly turned her head.

Theresa: "Out of all the things, this is something I would not lie about. Now go."

But Rose keeping her eyes narrowed as she eyed Theresa, walking away, it was clear she was not convinced, swearing she could feel even a small mischievous smile in that hood. But, regardless, she walked on towards the lake and now stood on the shore where Hanna, Terri, and the others in the fishing group were, staring ahead down towards the path seemingly marked by the ancient columns lining parallel towards the center isle. Perhaps in ancient times there was a path that led to the isle?

She then frowned: "How am I supposed to get there with all of this stuff?" Remembering the function of the relic in her hand, she put it to her mouth, "Hey, Theresa, how am I supposed to get to the isle with all of this stuff on me?"

Silence.

"Theresa."

Nothing.

"Theresa!"

Nothing still.

"Ther-eeessaaa."

Nope.

She shook the relic then, brow arched, "Hello?"

Silence.

She glanced around for any passerbys - none.

Rose sighed and hung her head, "Well, guess I'm going over there naked... Not like this is the first time I have done this."

As said, Rose disrobed placed her clothes and items on the grass just a bit away from the shore line of the lake, and, bearing the relic in hand, waded into the water where she soon made her way to the isle with deft, practiced strokes. Arthur paddling in, following her. Coming onto the shore of the isle, Rose planted her feet onto the isle's margin underwater and made her way up, and looked at her arms and down her chest and midriff feeling a sudden heat wave through those parts of her body and saw they were immediately dry. Patting them, they were as such.

Quickly putting two and two together, Rose sighed, head back, and went back into the water for the shore where her things were. Another instance for confirmation, getting out of the water, her whole body instantly dried. After she dressing herself, she hefted, weighed the rifle-motifed bludgeon in her hand, eyes drooping with a slight frown. She glanced at the lake, then back to the lump of metal and wood. She reeled her arm back and flung the thing at the sixty degree angle, far and spinning, to splash a few meters away from the isle.

Rose stared a moment at the splash, the ripples coming towards shore, then, flexing her hand: "Don't know why I need to get stronger than I am now."

Her odd strength was something she was not something she was particularly aware of until after she became healthier during her childhood, after giving herself proper time to recover from those vistas of white, grey, and the horrible cold of Old Town. Thinking of it now, she didn't recall any incident that would allude to her strength before Old Town, and perhaps this ability appeared when she and Sparrow were starving on the streets, which would explain why she didn't notice, becoming weak by the lack of nutritional upkeep.

But if Theresa was truthful about this site giving her more than this abnormal strength of her's in her fight for Lucien -

"I suppose it'll be worth it... C'mon, boy."

She needed to swim back, and the axe would no doubt become rusted, even just a little, by being in the water - even steel can rust given the time and elements wearing it down.

So, Rose did the next best thing: closing an eye, swinging her arm, lining it up as best as she could, she tossed it underhand to the isle and clenched her fist in victory upon it landing on the grass near the building on the isle.

She swam across, Arthur behind her, and felt herself dry up completely; boots, skirt, and shirt - all dry.

So, after wasting time on this issue, picking up her axe, Rose set the relic on the small round protrusion on the double doors of the building where it clicked into place and the gears and mechanisms on the doors rolled and clicked and, finally, the door swung open. As they entered, Rose took the relic from the left door, which had both the doors close with a dull thud, and the mechanisms did their thing. They were locked in.

Arthur whined and pawed Rose's leg, who gave comforting rubs: "Its okay, boy. There might be another way out."

Saying that, a puffing sound bought their attention: the hallway before them was lighted by torches on the wall, which must have been where the sound came from. Torches lighting themselves? Of all the magic and swordplay and all the Heroic stuff she had read, as continent this may be, this was, in hindsight to all of the stories, seemed almost like a waste of magic, or whatever craft made this possible.

Regardless, the fact they were locked in was indeed true: the hallway ended at a hole with no other hallways or other ways to anywhere.

Then: "Can you hear me?" Theresa's voice, it came from the relic like before those eight years ago, "I'm talking to you through the seal, the relic. Continue on deeper. The water at the bottom of the hole will break your fall."

Going to the edge to confirm this, there was water shimmering by the light of more torches underneath. The hole seemed to open to a cave or tunnel system.

Rose sighed, and looked to Arthur: "Well, boy. There's no where else to go." But then she looked at her axe.

Theresa chimed in again: "Don't worry about your weapon. By now, it should be resistant to wear, rusting, and such."

Head perking up, brows furrowing, Rose wondered what Theresa had meant, but there was no way to ask seeing as how this relic only seemed to have one-way communication.

Regardless, hopping into the hole, Rose hopped down, splashing into the cold water of the underground. Surfacing, she saw a couple of rocks that stacked to an opening leading much deeper in, from which she could spot blue lights of some sort inside the next room, it seemed, over.

There was a splash next to her, flinching because of it, and Arthur's head broke through the surface and was already paddling towards to the rocks aforementioned. Rose followed. Climbing onto the rock, she took and examined her axe and saw the now second piece of evidence that Theresa can tell the truth. At least, from what she could see, able to spot. Second inspection - nothing. No rust, no wear, no nothing - guaranteed.

Arthur barked.

Rose pat his head, "Alright, boy. Just had to be sure Theresa was right."

At that, Arthur tilted his head. Rose chuckled.

Moments later, they were at the opening of the next room, which revealed that the lights that she saw where actually crystal structures that dotted the room in bunches, groups, individually. The crystals made themselves an art piece above - twinkling lights in the dark sky that was the ceiling. The whole room was made of pale rock with sand, it seemed, in the middle, leading out to a passage deeper in. Perhaps this, whatever this place was, was an ancient escape route back in the Age of Heroes, which would explain the self-lighting torches and this reservoir of riches waiting to be taken.

But there was something in the air: the silence was to be expected but there was an indefinite something. Rose held her axe.

Arthur growled, she wasn't alone.

"C'mon, boy."

Rose gauged the distance to the ground - safe. Dropped. Glanced about as she stepped toward the passage. Sand ruffled as small but considerable forms rose from it. Roundish and fluttering their wings for the sand - beetles, eight of them.

Rose took the initiative. Rushed, chopped down at the first. Not stopping - stomped the smaller one nearby. The axe was lodged into the carcass but that didn't stop her. Hefting it, weighted now, it was a bludgeon for the next one, two, three beetles, not killing them but swatting them away with enough force to cripple and be at the mercy of Arthur, snapping with his jaw and, whipping his head, shaking the remaining life out of them.

Movement in her far right. She turned her head. One of the larger beetles had flown there and now charged at a speed faster than she could react and slammed against her, throwing her down to the sand. Abrupt and so forceful, Rose could only yelp, unable to keep her hold on her axe. Even unable to breath, only quick, hitched groans and moans as she writhed about, clutching her chest with wide eyes, her chest tight.

The her moans and groans seemed to bounce off the walls and ceiling of this room and come back to her, echoing more and more, seemingly louder and louder.

It bubbled back:

...Help... Ruh-Ro-Roho-Ro-hooozzzz...

Suddenly the tension in her chest disappeared, and Rose took a deep desperate breath of air, soon coughing. Noise on her left - a beetle flapping its wings for a charge. Still recovering, Rose tried getting her foot up but slipped. Falling back to the sand, she looked back and was graced by Arthur, savage with his mouth dripping and lathered with yellow blood, leaping at the attacking beetle and trapping it in his jaw and, landing, whipping his head like the others before.

Rose scanned the room for her axe - there, ten feet away, behind the last two other beetles. Getting to her feet, one of them charged for her. She leaned forward, arms out, tensed her chest with grit teeth. There was a resounding thump when the beetle slammed against her, to which, she managed to stay on her feet, nearly tipping over by the end of its force pushing her eight feet away. Her hands hooked, gripping its tiny legs, arms wrapped around its sides, her face close to its beating wings that fluttered out of rhythm, showing panic. Though she had the beetle that didn't stop it from attempting to shake of her, beating its wings to force her away since her face was so close, but its mandibles were the most concern, feeling them brush against her body.

Rose pulled the beetle up high and threw it down with all the force she could manage, hearing a satisfying crunch of its bone crunching, a tiny pained cry. It still movement in attempt to recover, Rose kicked it. A spurt of yellow blood, more crunching, another cry more strained, it hit, bounced off the fall wall and dropped to the sand, unmoving.

The final beetle was small, a young one perhaps, and though young it could get the bearing that the former-potential food its whole pack had fought for were of a more dangerous prey that they had thought. It was slightly, but it seemed to shake in fear before Arthur leapt at the thing, cut its young life short with its jaw.

Hands hard into fists, Rose scanned the area, watching for more beetles as she carefully stepped her way to her axe that she snatched from the ground. Left. Right. Up. Down. Her lone panting echoed off the room.

A wet noise directed her to Arthur, who whined and shook his head. Yellow blood had drenched his muzzle, and it was logical that he was intended to lick his lips, mouth, that area clean to the best of his ability but the taste of the blood stopped him.

Rose took another glanced at the area.

Nothing.

Shen went to Arthur and pulled her sleeve to wipe the yellow blood off of Arthur's muzzle to where he was, at least, comfortable.

Rose: "That better, boy?"

Arthur barked.

Standing up, Rose realized she was still shaking from the rush of battle, and in attempt to calm herself she gripped hard on the handle of her axe. However, she was still shaking.

Deep breath:

In - a long drawn breath.

Out - a long exhale.

She gulped.

She looked somberly at her axe, seeing her face faintly reflected on the axe head, the face of a hurt girl.

Mumbling: "Can I... can I even do this?" Back then, for some reason, be it the adrenaline or whatever was possessing her that night those Slavers from then seemed more easier than the beetles - but, granted, those Slavers were wounded, fatigued, overall debilitated before she finished them off with those she freed more than actually fight.

Theresa's voice fluttered in her head: "Do you see those glowing orbs?"

That bringing her out of her thoughts, she opened her mouth, despite knowing that Theresa wouldn't be able to hear her, to respond about the ludicracy until actually spotted the spoken orbs. Some smaller, some bigger - in fact, they seemed to be converging on each other to form a wholesome larger one. They were color coded, it seemed - for what she didn't know: there were only two - blue and green. However, despite their luminescence they didn't seem to be casting any light to the surroundings.

"Collect them - they are the experiences of the foes you've just defeated, they will be essential to your journey to Lucien."

Rose took a step before: "No. Do as I say, this will make this all the more easier: close your,eyes," Rose did just that, and followed, "take a deep breath, clear your mind, visualize the orb, and try to reach out to them to pull them to you - no, its okay, if it helps using your arms, that's fine."

Rose's lips pursed and her cheeks burned as she, essentially, groped at the air, feeling she was no better than a jester. That feeling was washed away by the surged that rushed into her. Tensing, she lurched, her body folding, knees bending and legs going bow-legged, her hands clawing as she grit her teeth. As soon as it started was gone, and flashes of moments she had never done rolled through her mind:

Her charging to an unarmed merchant, who face was distorted in panic and fear.

A lone guard, though she could only see a large hand and arm she knew these belonged to a guard, unmoving with red coming onto the sleeve of his uniform.

One moment, darkness, the other, sprang out light, and a startled rabbit was thrown up then crashed down onto the grass, its right leg broken, mewling and crying, yet still fighting for life as she sensed that she was moving closer and closer.

A little girl, tiny, alone, fearful; hungry, attack, feed.

Then she saw herself and Arthur and their work done.

Then, nothing. Everything was how it was as though nothing had happened.

Rose turned to Arthur, who whined at her discomfort, sitting before and looking up at her, worry sparkling in his eyes. He whined again, and Rose pat his head.

"I'm fine, boy... I'm fine..."

Theresa: "Are you well? As I said, collecting these experience orbs are essential to you getting stronger. I'm sure you saw it, but, unfortunately, you'll just have to get used to it. As to the use - you'll see later on. For now, keep going."

Rose took a deep breath, and did that. Continuing deeper into the cold bowels of this cave, the ancient bones of support beams from times long past out of place from shifts from the earth or broken in parts or entirely, more crystals protruding from the ground, happy in health, twinkling in the torches' lights. Then Arthur's barking took them off the main path and to a crevice in the wall that Rose could just able squeeze her way through. In this room was an ancient chest, grown green with moss and vines and leaf-growth, which Arthur straightened himself stiff as a gesture to point it out. There were only a few torches in here, possibly speaking to how old this place was, how much it has changed since was used.

On examining the vines and such, Rose saw that there was no need for any cutting, tearing them away with her hands was enough, given her innate strength. And inside, was a bulky mass of a mace - its shaft looked to be made of a durable wood but age as worn it, neglect can be the killer of anything. Case in point, the metal once was polished to a sheen, strong and durable was now full of rust, the spike head of the mace were like ancient teeth, and figured were just as tough as ancient teeth - rotted, weathered away.

And the shuffling of sand, Arthur barking and his following growling told Rose that she had the chance to test that.

Taking the risk of setting her axe down, she took the mace into her hands. Five beetles, in a pentagon formation surrounding her. Though this was the first sign of strategy she had witnessed from beetles, she had a strong feeling that this is only the case in facing strong opponents. Meaning - these beetles are aware of what she had done to the others before.

One of the older, more bigger beetles, turning red it seemed, still dominantly blue however, came forward to face her. This gave Rose the idea that this was to lead by example for the young - thinking back to that moment she had seen with the fallen guard when absorbing the experience orbs, remembering the sense of tininess.

The best idea that came to her - break this tradition.

Rose scanned the enemies, saw her target, a tiny beetle, likely the youngest, turned and dashed for it, and reeled the mace for a swing. The last of life she saw on this beetle seemed to be sudden fear reflecting in the tiny, beady eyes that exploded out of its body that splattered in a yellow explosion. The beetles seemed to freeze as though in horror, giving an opening for Arthur to pounce on the beetle that had volunteered and for Rose to continue the slaughter.

One.

Two.

With each landing hit there was the bucking, a small rebound, the jump in the mace itself, and with each, while focused on the battle, there was a part of her that worried that on the next swing the mace would break entirely like how easily wood can split when cut then pulled from the center. The gripping persisted despite the age of the leather bindings, and it seemed that age didn't make this weapon any lighter. A rough guess that perhaps this was a few of pounds heavier to her axe, she finally got the idea of how putting your whole strength into a swing could tire one very quickly, even with her strength by the third swing she was already panting.

But there was only one beetle left, and in its desperation it charged at Rose, who timed its distance for her to hammer her fist down, hearing a dull crunch, throwing it to the sand. It lay writing, kicking its many tiny legs before Rose's foot slammed down upon it, yellow soaking into the sand.

The battle was done.

The experience orbs appeared.

And she stood still.

She stared at the orbs, the mace limp and touching the ground.

Theresa chimed in: "Remember: collect the orbs, take your time, this process does need time to get used to."

But, that wasn't what Rose was worried about. She nearly took the seal from her pocket before remembering the communication was one-way, her question would have to be confirm later: every time she collected these orbs, would there always be moments replayed in her mind, like before?

In fact, Rose was tempted to not collect them, however, Theresa has said that these orbs were important to her quest for Lucien, how important she didn't know. But, was the necessity really so?

She felt fur on her legs - Arthur had just rubbed his face on her leg, that worry again in his eyes. Not saying anything, she pat his head.

She stared at the orbs a moment again, then, taking a deep breath, close her eyes and repeated the collection process from before. Her breaths came in shakily, her body shaking, waiting for the imminent moment of seeing some sort of horror or whatever these fallen had done in their time.

There - the surge.

Tensing, moments rushed into her mind. Some like those she had seen before - but, two stuck out in her mind: from the shadows, three men walked the paths of this cave, glancing around for any danger, torches high in their hands that accentuated the shifty, suggestive looks they gave to each other when they respectively thought none-the-wiser; and tiny tunnels, long and winding up and down that sprawled behind the rocks of this cave.

When the surge faded, Rose inhaled deep, then exhaled. Then she looked to the mace, "How am I supposed to carry this and my axe? I might be stronger than normal but I'm not that strong?"

Again, the helping voice returned: "If you have items more than you can carry, tap the item on your seal. Among the experience orbs, this seal is also essential for you."

Doing as instructed, the mace was enveloped in a blue-white light that connected the mace to the seal, and it quickly shrunk from the head down. Down, down, down, until it flashed over the seal where little pulsating waves like light like ripples of water radiated out. Then, nothing.

Rose stared at the face of the seal. Then the underside. Then back to the face. Finally, she shrugged: "Eh... Theresa will probably explain later." She sighed and rolled her eyes.

She took her axe and continued along.

The path continued until soon she came across old ruins of what looked to be a burial ground - that could be an explanation why there were stone, what appeared to be, coffins. There was a small bridge that led to one of two metal gates in the room. But a glint of silver brought her attention to the creek below the bridge, and there she spotted the bleach-white bones of a skeleton in the water, clothed - worn and torn. It was the first of any sort of sign of human life being here besides her, and roughly judging it seemed that, compared to the ancient body of this cave, this was recent.

Following the small slope down she wadded into the shin-deep creek and pulled out the glint of metal that was, now, a rusted pistol from being in the water. Rusted, though this kept its semblance to a gun compared to that rifle bludgeon that Theresa bought her. There was the holster, but it was too waterlogged and its seems had undone itself. There were also remains of a second holster but the second pistol for this was missing. From the elaboration from the few books that she had that weren't of hero tales, this hole on the side was where she was to insert the bullet then pull back the flint-lock hammer.

This pistol was of the same type that had shot Sparrow.

That had shot her.

That she had used that one night all those years ago when killing the slaver that had straddled atop her. Back then she was on a battle-high, excitement and rush off-setting the fear now, her heart punching the inside of her chest - a pain growing. Her breaths were fast and her face twisted in pain and discomfort, she put the flat of her fingers against her chest.

"Oh... God..." Rose staggered to the slope and stumbled onto the sand, where Arthur was already at her side, sniffing and whimpering and whining even when Rose rolled onto her back.

There, clutching at her chest with clawed hands, rolling about, wincing, every breath of air seeming about to pop her chest she heard through the fear and pain:

"I need you to do exactly as I say: think of a memory, a moment to where you were the most happiest, concentrate solely on that and took in slow, deep breaths. Okay?" Theresa's voice carried a gentleness and worry that was a clear as flowing water, even in Rose's current state.

But even then, Rose did the best that she could:

She wasn't sure if this was real or something that she made up - a farm, that old farm where happiness was cheap and safety assured, and there below the tallest tree in the farm, on the yard of a house, sat a family.

A man, and a woman - whose faces were vague, almost opaque in blurs.

Before them, sitting on the lap of the woman was Sparrow.

And she, sitting before the man, was her, smiling warmly.

The cool gentle breeze caressing them, softly rustling the trees as though they were chatting either in jealousy or admiration to the display before them as the blue canvas above was clear, becoming orange, red, then a light shade of purple in the yawning sun setting in the horizon. The air becoming cool by the minutes passing, the wholesome warmth of them together was tangible. The clucking at the barn a reminder of their status as a farming family, no doubt the adult chickens urging their young to sleep, to grow.

The warmth of safety.

The warmth of loved ones.

The warmth of being able to be a child.

The warmth of her brother.

The warmth of her family.

Breathe slowly, Theresa said:

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Dont't, think.

Don't, go astray.

Don't.

Don't.

DON'T.

DO NOT.

In, out.

In, out.

In out.

In out.

It's fine - just concentrate, just concentrate - concentrate!

Mother and Father did (not) return.

Sparrow is (not) alive

Rose isn't (is) alone.

Rose does (not) have a home.

Rose's efforts weren't (were) in vain.

Rose has something (a kill) to fight for.

The pain in her chest was still there but no longer aching, it wholy swept aside by the sorrow drowning her conscience, flooding out of her eyes, her sobs for support drowning in the vast emptiness and crawling darkness of antiquity Each cry, each tear, each moan, was a regression to deep emotion that tore time away from her, returning to that girl from years ago. The girl that was so desperate for safety of any kind that she threw away five gold for a music box.

And her brother.

She registered the warmth of Arthur's form so close, first whimpering, then licking in assurance that she wasn't, indeed, so alone, that he was there to care for her, before finally lying down next to her. He gave occasional glances to her in her emotional fit, prioritizing vigilance now than concern - they were in uncharted territory sealed away by time immemorial.

That aching in Rose chest faded from the physical to the mental, feeling something there, rousing in there, but there being no actual wound or physical health issue; lingering, but more in tune to a leech than a bite.

Sniffing, wiping her eyes, taking a moment to regain her composure, as she stroked Arthur's back in thanks, who 'ruffed' in kind, Theresa podded again:

"If you are done, continue on. Take your time."

Taking a moment to breathe, she then stood back up and returned to the small bridge, where something un-lodged itself from the top of the gated way opposite the bridge and floated to stop before her, trailing white light. The object was spherical with protruding point left, right, up, and below it on its surface. A concave, glass-like material took over the front half of the sphere, lighted blue and a stylized black sword was centered on it.

Theresa again: "That sphere is a flit switch, a switch in a more abstract use: for example, hit this one with your axe."

Rose frowned. Looking at the sphere, it she hit the thing, wouldn't it break? While it did look like it could take a couple of hard hits, Rose was a tier above the norm.

And with that thought: "Don't worry. These objects were built with durability in mind."

Still skeptical, seeing how this thing sat in these ruins for times immemoriable, Rose took hold and raised her axe, there was only one way forward. She cleaved down. There was an initial contact, she could feel, evidenced by the 'Ping!' sound that came, but thereafter, still mid-swing, there was suddenly empty air. In fact, after so much as touching the switch it seemed that her axe phased through. From there, it shot to the top of the gateway, where its color turned yellow and the sword replaced by what looked to be cross hairs.

"For this, you shoot it. Again, take your time."

Rose became tight-lipped, gripping her axe hard that it shook. She took a shaky deep breath. Seeing as how she had no sort of sheath, she improvised by sliding her axe into the remaining loop-holsters handle-first. Taking another deep breath, she carefully gripped the handle of the pistol, drew it from the opposite holster, and stared a moment at it in her hands. After, she went to the pouch that had the bullets from the chest that was at her caravan - from what she knew these balls were the universal, any gun could fire them - and took one and inserted it on the hole in the side, where a click was heard. The flint hammer she drew back slowly and carefully, for fear of it breaking off. There, drawn back.

Now, she only needed to fire.

Now, images of that fateful night drew in like storm clouds.

Shutting her eyes, she shook her head, and thereafter took yet another deep breath.

She held it in both shaking hands, arms straight but swaying slightly, she lined the sight with her right eye - the left close, she waited, lining the shot, finger on the trigger.

And pulled it.

Of course, there was the ping-sound again but the gunshot was what she was concerned about, making her jump and yelp, shutting her eyes. She opened them when hearing the gate shudder and the old mechanisms crank and turn as the gate jumped, once, twice, thrice as it went up, kept open by what sounded to be a wooden lock in the wall.

Theresa: "Continue forward."

If anything this was a credence to what Gretta said those eight years ago, that she was smiling when she was killing, that she seemed to be a different person that wore the same body. Here, finally, Rose felt the tangibility of that: she remembered that she had used a pistol to finish off the last slaver that one night, without hesitation. If anything it was the adrenaline or being in the high of battle, being in the moment and using any means necessary or any of the subtle switches that turn off the conscience.

Rose stayed a moment, taking a moment to regain her composure, and just to take a breath before she holstered the pistol, carefully and slowly, despite not being loaded, as though the whole frame of it itself would explode by wrong movement, and delved deeper.

The winding ways of this system, the occasional hoarse breathy moans of it seemed to give a sense that this whole place was finally waking from a long, initially thought eternal slumber, the kind that any place anywhere would faded away from existence, finally woke. Upset but only weak enough to send its only sort of bodily defense in the means of the beetles.

More and more beetles.

Beetles.

And beetles.

And beetles.

Which, all, were more or less consistently the same as the initial ones she had first fought here. There was a change, however, when the beetles appeared from the top of the ceiling of a path, clinging upside down and spew glowing projectiles from their mouths. Not a barrage, it seemed to be that the beetles needed time to process whatever made these projectiles in their bodies to appear sufficiently enough to be lethal, resulting in intervals where they would be completely open long enough to die.

Which, Theresa, upon first encountering this: "Use your ranged weapon to take down these beetles. Relying on brute force can spell for disaster, especially when your foes are out of reach."

Rose glanced at the pistol dangling from her loop-holster, then spotted numerous rocks that she could use to pelt the beetles. If relying on one weapon was bad, perhaps relying on tow could be even worse - or perhaps she was just making excuses. But there was truth in that in there being only a finite number of ammo that she can carry.

Pistol or rocks.

The choice was easy.

Snatching a rock, she lined the shot, hand out, and chucked it, slamming and apparently crushing the beetle's head it hit seeing how it went limp and crashed to the ground. There being four left, and apparently these beetles are bad shots as they kept going wide - off to the side, above her head, going too short - easy pickings.

One - hit.

Two - miss, but injured to fall from the ceiling and Arthur to finish off.

Three - miss, miss, hit.

Four - ran off.

Continuing, Rose came across a skeleton, whose torn and faded clothing she recognized, and the faded scrawled note beside it confirmed it: this was one of the three men that had been in that remembrance, so to speak from before. Later finding the two others, it painted a picture as this:

These three men were of fortune, hearing rumors and myths that this place held some sort of treasure that was worth a lifetime, and as they all learned and meet each other the more they saw the selfishness in each other except for themselves, their own sense of it until near death - that one of them poisoned the two and was killed off by beetles later on.

Rose didn't know why, but she felt an odd sense of foreboding from this history, enough to take the respective dying notes of them all and store them in the seal.

Soon, after this, she came across a thick door, of stone and seemingly have a more complex contraption to open it just by looking at the compass, clock-like mechanism on its front. Which likely had something to do with the small platform in the center of this room, which was confirmed by a flint switch floating down from the ceiling and now before her.

Blue - Rose cleaved at it with her axe.

It darted far, now before the door, and high and above the compass-like mechanism.

Yellow.

Rose took a long sigh - she had a feeling that this was to be expectant if she were to face anymore places like this, if she ever came across them in getting to Lucien.

So...

Might as well...

Arthur pawed her leg; she pet it with a thankful smile and pet.

Taking a deep breath, Rose took a bullet from her pouch and inserted it into her pistol, that click indicating it was loaded. Taking another deep breath, she carefully took it in two hands, set her arms straight, closing one eye to look down the sights, lined the shot, and pulled the trigger, yelping and crouching down, holding her head when it missed and ricocheted, bouncing off the walls before burying itself into the wall.

Theresa chimed in: "Be careful, take your time and try again. Once you're passed this room, you'll no longer have to be afraid of these accidents again. Firearms, no less."

Being so close, apparently, to this power she needed, Rose forced herself on. Bullet - out, in; hammer, back; lined up the shot,; pulled the trigger.

Ping!

The flit switch guided, inserted itself into the compass mechanism of the door, where then its hands, like a clock, spun round, opposite to each other, clock-wise to counter-clockwise, and stopped to line up at the top, where a the clicking and clacking of mechanisms behind the walls, croaked and groan to lift the door up, opening the way through.

Far down, she could see a long hallway that seemed to lead to a bridge of what appeared to be the outside or possible a chasm seeing how there was no tangible change in temperature, if it did lead outside. But before the bridge, Rose spotted a bookshelf that made the fork, when approaching it, more apparent. There was an open path on the left, which Arthur charged through.

Rose, following, "Arthur! Arthur, come back, be careful!"

Arthur's barks in turn seemed to be assuring and encouraging her to follow. The fact of the danger in these ruins, Rose had no choice, and found herself in what would have been a library in this places prime, the shelves and shelves of pristine books that held immense knowledge, or fiction, was reduced to a small room, the shelves eaten way, broken, some persisting to stand the test of time along with the books that were still here, untouched.

A breather, practically, a nice distraction from the task and everything that she had faced since arriving here, she found a few books that caught her attention. Books of heroes, their tales, their feats, their lives. But, two of importance, one, seemingly, autobiographical, of the fall of the Heroes Guild, how they become more and more villainous, selfish, demanding of rewards, to the point that the tension between them and the public reached a head to where the guild was raided by a mob. Though, obviously, the Heroes held more prowess in general, by common knowledge, but it seemed that even then they were as human as everyone else when outnumbered and washed over by an angry wave of people.

The second book: the Heroine of Oakvale.

However, this she didn't get to look into by Arthur drawing her attention to a chest that held a fine piece of jet and a questionable healing potion, whether it was safe to drink seeing how its ancient compared to the potions now. Perhaps its more potent, perhaps potions are sort of in the vein of alcohol where the older they are they better they are.

She pursed her lips.

She didn't dare to test it there.

Placing any more books that held her interest into the seal, she returned back to the fork and continued to the bridge.

Where upon setting foot onto the bridge, which revealed that this connected the room ahead to that behind her over a chasm, Theresa: "This ruin, this cave, you have ventured into is a shadow of itself, set to be forgotten and disappear: the Heroes Guild."

Rose stopped mid-step, ironic that the book that held record of the fall of the Heroes Guild was contained in the corpse of the Heroes Guild itself. She continued on, entering, what once was, a spacious, wide, circular room reduced to a one way platform from this doorway to the opposite side, the sides having collapsed from time and tremors, likely.

Theresa continued: "For centuries, this school trained the best of the gifted sons and daughters of Albion. Once worshiped by the people of Albion, the Heroes were then feared and hated. No one alive today remembered the cleansing fire of the burning guild, as I gad said - a shadow edging on the verge of disappearing. But, they're not all gone - you are here, and that same Heroic blood runs within you."

... Its true... your blood... you are Heroes!

...No wonder I was quick to stop Rex...

So... even if she was directly involved in Sparrow's death, her very being itself was the cause of his death.

Arthur ruffed, pawing at Rose's foot - she didn't bother.

"Look at these walls. Your predecessor..." There was a loud pause ,disquieting enough for Rose meaning to ask when Theresa finally continued, "...One of the mightiest Heroes to have ever lived."

There were many murals that decorated the room, many containing a consistent thing - a woman, and the one to her left had her on a green hill, overlooking a lush forest from when a shining sun was reaching out of, and the blue sky contrasted to the red hair, the white cape, and the red outfit the woman wore.

"At a young age, she suffered the greatest loss... something which she never truly recovered."

That loss could be seen on one of the murals on the left side of the room, a forest of countless people piked with fire outlining them, burning high in the background, and a little girl bearing the misfortune to witness the raw horror and animosity of it all. Here, something about this rang familiar, the event that was being depicted but Rose couldn't recall how.

Not with these voices rushing back:

...I need people with... particular talents...

...One of you is the forth...

...Nothing must stand in my way...

Hands clenched hard into fists, biting her lip hard to draw blood, eyes stinging - no matter what she had done, would she, they, have only prolonged the inevitable?

...One of you is the forth...

Theresa: "But when the world tried to crush her, she retaliated. And grew strong, strong enough to shape the world as she saw fit." And with a sternness and finality: "You must do the same."

These murals, these feats, who she was, what she was - would she have to do the same as her forebear? This dragon in one of them, as far as she knew there were no reports, sightings, rumors, or anything pertaining to the existence of dragons in recent years. Even though the stage was empty, even if they audience was only a select few, these shoes seemed to big. Granted, all the murals seemed more fantastical than what's being heard about the creatures now, thankfully.

A light, centered in the room, caught her attention.

"The guild has reacted to you. Step in the light: learn the dormant power of yourself, the power of Heroes."

A Hero.

Is she?

Even so, a fire kindled itself within her, and she saw one face in her mind - Lucien.

Rose, going up the small steps, saw what was at the center of the room, a large engraving of an 's.'

...One of you is the forth...

Stepping to the center, her whole body tensed, lurching forward, clawing her hands, clenching her teeth - a surge rushed within her. Twisting and bending, the surge intensified, reaching a peak that felt as though her whole world was about to break.

Faintly, she could hear: "Your blood is awakening."

There was a break, a sudden... force, within her, breaking free, as though all weight was blown off her shoulder - no, her whole being, finally able to stretch and be free.

Rose bellow a scream that seemed to shake the walls of the room, as though acknowledging the sheer power of just her voice alone, and, running out of the room and back, the echo, it seemed to deepen, gravel-y and rough - a roar. That roar, rattling, shuddering her body.

Rose's shadow grew, her form elongating, her hands and fingers becoming long, her fingers seemingly ending in points, her hair becoming one with the shadow, becoming a mane like fur, and at the angle, her mouth, her teeth seemed to be sharp.

Arthur's black pearls eyes in the light seemed to bear an... alien blankness.

He looked to Rose, still stiff and shuddering from the rush.

Then to her shadow.

And stared.


End file.
